


My Husband, Attend

by mightymads



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: IDIC vs xenophobia in Vulcan society, M/M, Telepathy, Traditional Vulcan wedding, Vulcan language and culture, after TMP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:05:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6211963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightymads/pseuds/mightymads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The encounter with V’ger gave Spock the answer the Masters of Gol could not. He seems content. It’s difficult to tell, so Jim has resigned himself to keeping distance. But then Spock proposes, which entails going to Vulcan, learning vows in Vulcan, wearing Vulcan robes—the whole nine yards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anew

**Author's Note:**

> TMP director's cut + Tony Bennett = lots of space husbands feels

Flashes of incandescent gas are glowing blue against a maroon ring of dust. Matter and energy explode, shining like a giant beacon in the vastness of space—a tantrum of a baby-star. Having dealt with another baby and its tantrums that had threatened to destroy every living thing on Earth, the Enterprise is finally on a much-needed shakedown. While at it, they got a request from Starfleet to drop by star-forming region FG-7 and note the changes from the previous observation.

It’s heartwarming to see how zealous the Science department is, eager for the usual exploration routine after the crisis had passed. And despite their excitement, people work in a perfect order, well-coordinated and efficient under the astute supervision of Science Officer.

As if last three years never happened: again on this ship, with this crew and… Spock. Spock is back. Gaunt, his angular features even sharper, a small scar on his right cheek—trials of Gol didn’t make him any less beautiful. The simple feeling. What is it for him? Once it was easy to finish each other’s sentences or just glance across the bridge without words. Now all of that is gone. These years did happen.

Suddenly Spock turns, his Vulcan sixth sense keen as ever, pinpointing if someone is watching him.

“Is anything the matter, Captain?” he asks impassively, but his bearing is careful, almost wary.

“Um, carry on,” Kirk mumbles, looking away. “I, uh… decided to stretch my legs.”

It would be downright mortifying to blush like a cadet. The admiral squares his shoulders and heads out of the astronomy lab.

 

“Well, tell me,” McCoy drawls, his Southern notes thicker with the amount of consumed bourbon, “how long are you gonna beat around the bush?”

The officer’s lounge is shrouded in soft lights, gentle jazz playing in the background. The viewport opens to the same stunning sight of a young star spreading its shimmering cape in the dark. Perfect conditions to contemplate, drown your sorrows, and get grilled by an old friend.

“What would you have me do?” Jim sighs, studying the amber liquid in his own glass. “He’s here, and seeing him every day is enough.”

“Is it?” Bones raises his eyebrows ostentatiously.

“I don’t want ruin everything, okay?” Jim bristles, then sighs again and forces himself to ease up. “His decision to stay already seems too good to be real.”

“But what’s going on doesn’t do you any good,” McCoy ditches the playful tone. “Either of you. Stalking each other and staring from a distance, seriously. Are you gonna pine away till the end of time? He will, you know how he is.”

“I’m not sure I do anymore,” Jim mutters, pushing away his glass. “We’re total strangers now, like eight years ago. Let it be any way he prefers if it means that he stays.”

“Oh Lord, give me strength,” McCoy shakes his head and downs the remains of his drink.

 

Jim returned to his quarters a little buzzed, but not a bit relaxed. Unable to focus on reading, he decided to plunge into paperwork, hoping that it’d keep his mind from running in circles.

There are several pending reports to be finished. It should help, much better than lying awake in bed and dwelling on this no-win scenario, trying, trying hard to find a creative solution. To no avail. The faint scent of spicy incense, touches of the long fingers, visions of the dark eyes chase him in dreams, both pleasure and torture. So real, and yet when you reach out—

The door chime startles him out of his musings. Ugh, did Bones come up with another brilliant argument? Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kirk answers, “Come.”

More tension creeps up on him as the doors slide open. He’d rather endure Bones’ nagging.

“Excuse me for disturbing you at this hour,” Spock walks in, his posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back.

Unlike the jumpsuit, the two-piece hangs loosely on his thin frame. His expression is closed off, countenance nearly as ash gray as the uniform. Jim’s heart clenches, but he smiles amiably.

“What can I do for you, Spock?”

Spock’s gaze is intense with determination. “You can hear me out.”

Not this. Anything but this—a ship emergency, a whim from the brass, red alert, please, please, please. Numb all over, Kirk gets to his feet and manages in a clear and steady voice, “Alright.”

Spock closes his eyes for a moment, visibly steeling himself. A crease between the slanted eyebrows deepens.

“Regarding the situation between us...”

There’s no need to relive this, we’ve been here before. Oh Spock, how it pains you. Jim is about to say that explanation is unnecessary, that he understands—

“I don’t have any right to ask, but… is there a chance?”

“A chance?” Jim echoes.

All this time, whenever he indulged himself in wishful thinking, he’d lose it. A sparkle of false hope now is far too dangerous.

Shifting from foot to foot, Spock ducks his head and exhales.

“Jim…” he ventures at last. “I couldn’t find the answer at Gol, because my answer is you. If your feelings didn’t change... if you’ll have me…”

He looks up helplessly, desperately, and it’s impossible to hold back—Jim dashes to him, like on the day Spock arrived. Their belt medscans clank; Jim clutches fistfuls of Spock’s tunic as the strong arms wrap around him and the lips chapped by the desert winds cover his. So many nights and days spent in yearning and memories. Spock’s tongue slips into his mouth, and Jim’s knees almost give out. Jim kisses back with abandon because soon the dream may end, he’ll wake up sitting at his desk. But now Spock is clinging to him and doesn’t let go.

When they are out of breath, Jim buries his face in Spock’s shoulder. “Anything you want us to be.”

“Then bond with me?” Spock whispers.

This close, his fear of rejection comes clearly through the mindlink.

“Oh god yes,” Jim half-laughs, half-sobs, raising his head to look into Spock’s eyes.

Talking of marriage straight away after a long separation should be ridiculous. It is not. Jim has no power to contain unbidden tears.

“Forgive me,” Spock’s voice trembles as he wipes the tears from Jim’s face.

“You needed to figure yourself out,” Jim puts his hand over Spock’s.

“I am sorry it took so long,” Spock says bitterly.

Jim crushes their mouths together again. _You returned, I didn’t even dare to imagine it._ Spock’s two extended fingers trace Jim’s wrist and knuckles, sending shivers down his spine. Vulcan caresses, Jim couldn’t forget them, although he often wished to. Warmth pervades his body, blood rushing to his cock. He rubs Spock’s palm with his thumb, and Spock deepens the kiss, growing hard.

They strip each other, stumbling towards the sleeping alcove. Spock’s hands run along Jim’s back and down to his ass, possessive and reverent. The rapid heartbeat in his side, his slightly cooler than Human touch, his chest hair prickling Jim’s skin… Spock. Holding him, Jim feels the protruding ribs. God, so thin, what did he have to endure at Gol? A soothing wave of love suddenly washes over Jim’s consciousness. Spock takes them both in hand and strokes, his length already wet and slick with natural lube. The memory supplies its mild taste. Jim groans against Spock’s lips.

Spock lowers himself on the bed, pulling Jim on top of him, and spreads his legs. There’s raw want in his eyes as he smears Jim’s cock with more lube. His intent is to forego the preparation, but Jim will have none of it. He gives Spock’s shaft several tugs and starts careful fingering. Spock is as tight as he was for the first time, and he has always been sensitive. Jim stretches him out thoroughly. Cheeks tinged green, bangs in disarray, lips parted in silent gasps, he’s so beautiful. Panting, Spock opens his legs wider.

“Jim,” he breathes.

Jim could come just from this. _Nothing was the same without you. You stayed under my skin despite all I did to move on._ He withdraws the fingers and enters Spock, stifling a sigh as the warmth envelops him. Spock’s gaze is gentle, filled with serenity that wasn’t there when he stepped on the bridge in his black robes, after mastering severe spiritual disciplines. Inch by inch Jim pushes deeper, until he is fully in. Spock lets out a low moan—yes, the angle is right. His pleasure streams through the link, mingling with Jim’s own. It was mind-boggling at first, to pick up what Spock feels. Later, parsecs apart, Jim craved it. He sets a slow pace, relishing every second. Last time they made love, before that assignment, before everything went to hell, Spock was taking him. Tears are smothering him again and his breath becomes shallow with sobs. Shit, get a grip, Kirk.

“ _Ashayam_ ,” Spock strokes Jim’s cheek, his eyes vulnerable, anguished.

Jim kisses him. It’s messy, wet, and salty, but neither of them cares. Spock wraps his legs around Jim’s waist and rolls his hips, urging Jim to resume the rhythm. Jim does, and soon he is fucking Spock hard, making him keen with each thrust. Spock clasps their hands together and entwines their fingers. There can be no one else, everything else is a poor distraction from gaping emptiness if this is gone. Their connection just clicked into place from the beginning and gradually evolved. Jim nuzzles Spock’s cheek, then presses his lips to the point of Spock’s ear. Spock tightens his legs crossed at the small of Jim’s back while Jim slides deep inside him. His taut heat is maddening, his hard cock rubs against Jim’s stomach, dripping. Jim slips a hand between them and strokes Spock’s length, caressing the head, as Spock moans without restraint.

Both are getting closer and closer. Spock cups Jim’s cheek with his free hand—happiness is flowing through the link, he radiates peace he’s been searching for. They kiss long as Jim grinds into him until Spock is gasping and coming in spurts, clenching around Jim. Jim sinks into him once again and follows, groaning, filling Spock with his release.

In a few moments, he barely has the presence of mind to pull out and collapse beside Spock, drained physically and emotionally. Spock circles his arms around Jim, and for a while they lie with their limbs tangled, ignoring the stickiness of semen and sweat.

Still, it wouldn’t do to fall asleep like this. If the air feels chilly for Jim as they cool off, it must be even more so for Spock. Jim gets a towel from the drawer in the wall niche beside the bed and cleans Spock up. Together they pad to the bathroom, having set the bed to make itself. It’s more comfortable with sheets and blankets, after all.

Another bout of nostalgia hits Jim as they share a shower. The cubicle was smaller before the refit, they’d bump their elbows and knees—it was absolutely no place for fooling around, but they somehow managed. Spock presses him against the tiled wall and kisses those thoughts away. When they return to the sleeping area, Jim chuckles, watching Spock, stark naked, pick up their scattered clothes and put them neatly in the wardrobe.

They settle under covers on their sides, facing each other, fingers tracing fingers in slow caresses. Everything in life is right again, but not the same: it’s a new chapter, there’s a lot in store for them. Jim drinks in the sight of the beloved sharp features and at long last breaks the comfortable silence.

“So, about bonding... Was it a spontaneous idea?”

“I planned to propose at the end of the mission and regret that I didn’t,” Spock furrows his brow, insecurity seeping through the link. “Have you reconsidered?”

“No,” Jim reassures him quickly. “Just wondering whether we’ll continue the service in deep space.”

“Why would we not?”

“Sooner or later there will be similar circumstances. What if you jeopardize the ship because of me? You couldn’t forgive yourself back then, although all was well eventually.”

Spock bites his lip and heaves a sigh.

“It wasn’t a singular instance. By that time it became a pattern: I did it twice* even prior to our involvement. I denied that my judgment was compromised and justified it by logic. The realization was too shocking.”

“You thought you were losing yourself, and not through spores or ice age,” Jim says quietly.

“Yes. But those conditions were artificial. This one is natural, and I learned that there is nothing wrong about it. Without it, life is lacking. The denial is over,” Spock squeezes Jim’s hand. “From now on, if I am compromised, I shall declare myself as such.”

“Scotty and Bones will be thrilled.”

“They will help to make decisions objectively. Moreover, a full-fledged bond will allow us communicate despite being parted.”

“Parted and never parted, eh?”

Spock’s lips curve upwards, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“When?” Jim grins back.

“We could do it right now…” Spock replies and falters, frowning, evidently chastising himself for impatience. “...or whenever you wish.”

“I’m on board with right now,” Jim whispers.

It’s one of the craziest, most reckless things he’s done, but he is ready to jump headlong. What’s the point in waiting? He wants it, they both do, so there’s no reason to postpone it. Spock actually smiles at him, awed and elated, and lifts his hand to Jim’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In The Paradise Syndrome and Tholian Web, Spock essentially endangered the ship to save Jim while another course of action was more preferable for the safety of the crew, as McCoy pointed out both times.


	2. Just married

In a way, having someone in your head is more intimate than sex. Yet these two things are simply incomparable. A meld is a ruthless medium of communication: no pretenses, no defenses, just the truth. For a Human, it should be disturbing, but to perceive Spock's presence is always comforting. It's like a warm ray of light—while Jim stays aware of the physical world, of Spock's intent gaze, this image rises in his mind's eye.

Spock's joy at their union permeates Jim's senses. Jim meets him as happily, enjoying the flow of Spock's thoughts against his. Spock goes deeper, and although Jim expects it, the sudden ability to observe his own mindscape, lush and vivid in colors, is still astounding.

_You said once that it's easier to visualize than navigate through pure concepts._

_Indeed._

If Spock's telepathic gift was impressive before, now his skills have the precision of a master, forged by a rigorous training. Perhaps he chose this gentle method for Jim's sake.

_Also, your mind is beautiful._

_Aw, glad to know it's not just my looks._

Their link ripples with laughter, and as Spock takes the familiar path, the link grows, shimmering brighter. It brings relief for both: they are meant to be this way, blended into each other. With every shared meld it was more and more difficult to part. Now they don't have to. In the process, the scenery changes—from the sunlit breezy valley of Jim's psionic center to a scorched red desert.

_Small rocks are sharp under his bare feet, his crude robe is heavy, the noon heat burns his skin, but he walks on, determined to complete the task. The body is weak, the spirit is strong. Last night he dreamed of Jim again, and this has to stop._

_Hours and hours of kneeling on the ancient stonework. His joints are stiff. The heavy sadness doesn't go away. He finally gives in and raises his gaze to the dark sky, instantly finding there a tiny twinkling dot—Sol. Tomorrow, two extra hours of meditation._

_Jim's eyes are shining with hope as he leans forward over the handrails on the bridge of the Enterprise. Later, in the officer's lounge, resignation and hurt are still discernible under Jim's cool professional exterior, unspoken but clear. You didn't come back. You're so desperate to be done with me that you're grasping at straws—the thing out there. Feeling physically ill. I am the cause of Jim's pain._

The vision is dispelled hurriedly, Spock's remorse intense.

_Spock, it was no one's fault._

_I didn't mean to impose this on you. Fragments of memories surface involuntarily during bonding._

_Then you saw mine too. I was in a relationship._

_You had no obligations to me at the time._

_Let's put it all behind us?_

_Yes._

The order of Spock's mind has achieved the level of art: every bit of memory, every grain of knowledge is cataloged and arranged into intricate patterns where it's easily accessible. The link draws Jim further, to an area which is almost unrecognizable. Emotions around psionic connections were kept under strict control, some studiously weeded out. Now they are trimmed, but otherwise allowed free reign. Light engulfs Jim—the link broadens, becoming a solid bond that won't be fully undone even by death. He is a part of Spock, and Spock is a part of him. Captured by a stream of euphoria, they float together, endlessly, like they did before being born into this world and like they will after leaving it.

Little by little Jim's body starts regaining its weight while the light fades, until it's dim and soft. The ever present sound of engines is a low purr of impulse power. The quick Vulcan heartbeat is thrumming under his palm. Spock's face comes into focus, all aglow, no trace of stoicism. They are separate, but still one—Spock has eased them out of the meld, but he's still there, in Jim's head. It is the best feeling in the universe.

 

They woke in the middle of the night and made love again and then again in the morning, so they were running late. Thankfully, a small synthesizer had been installed in the captain's quarters during the refit. After a quick breakfast they managed to get to the bridge on time.

The crew greet them with surreptitious smiles, just like in the good old days. Uhura chuckles at her console, Sulu and Chekov exchange sly looks, McCoy... is apparently busy in sickbay. No doubt the rumor will reach him before lunch if not earlier.

_Guess subtlety has never been our strong suit._

_It would appear so._

Spock does this not-shrug of his. Somehow, his expression is both dispassionate and radiant. Jim must be way worse.

_What, you're not insulted?_

One slanted eyebrow rises. _Kaiidth_.

Snorting, Jim heads to the captain's chair and sits down gingerly, sore in the places he hasn’t been since the end of the five-year mission. It takes all his willpower to focus on log updates from Gamma shift instead of prodding the bond and whooping. There's composed dedication to work on the other side. Spock is only a few feet away, behind him. It used to be so convenient to steal glances—who the hell thought it was a good idea to move the science station? And oh, the new scanner doesn't require bending over it... Right, the logs!

At least the survey data is interesting. It keeps Kirk occupied through the first part of the shift. According to Starfleet orders, the Enterprise is to return to Earth in a week: the longest respite which could be allowed. It's nice to have a little downtime before the inevitable debriefs, press-conferences with the mass media and other hassle. Space exploration under normal conditions isn't that bad for a change. So pass the uneventful morning hours.

Usually Jim eats lunch in the mess hall—closer to the crew, an old tradition. But today Spock and he prefer a quiet corner of the officer's lounge.

"You don't have to refrain from meat in deference to my sensibilities," Spock says, nodding at Jim's veggie curry. His own _Bertakk_ soup also smells so good. While synthesizers produced palatable food originally, the technology improved a lot.

"Yeah, even real steaks didn't put you off back then," Jim laughs, guilty as charged. Spock knows him too well, and now add to this their strong telepathic connection. It's a bit scary, to be honest.

"I cannot hear your thoughts unless they are addressed directly to me," Spock assures him.

"But how..." Jim widens his eyes.

The corners of Spock's mouth twitch. "You are projecting your emotions quite loudly."

"Can I learn not to?" Jim mumbles in a small voice.

A surge of tenderness and amusement through the bond. "Of course. I shall teach you if you wish."

"If I wish? Isn't it tedious to be exposed to Human emotions non-stop?"

"To feel you is a pleasure and solace," Spock shakes his head.

Jim smiles, extending two fingers toward him. Spock caresses them with his own.

 

They have just finished the meal when McCoy saunters into the lounge with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Hey, Bones!" Jim waves at him.

"Doctor," Spock greets him genially.

"Well-well," McCoy drawls, joining them at the table and grinning like a Cheshire cat. "You two kissed and made up at last?"

"Yes, Doctor," Spock deadpans. "We did precisely that."

"And got married as a result," Jim adds.

McCoy chokes on his coffee, almost sputters and starts coughing.

"What?" he croaks after the coughing bout subsides.

"Jim and I now share a full marital bond," Spock elaborates, and Jim can't help beaming.

"I don't know why I am surprised," Bones huffs. "So, no fancy ceremonies or rolling in sands this time, eh?"

"You are too curious for your own good," Spock folds his arms across his chest.

"What if you'll need rescuing again, Jim?" McCoy says in a loud whisper, making a mock-horrified face.

"I'm sure that's not going to happen, Bones," Jim chuckles. "Right, Spock?"

"Let's discuss it later, in private," Spock replies, his posture tensing a little. There's a rush of uneasiness from him, then it's quickly clamped down.

"Hey, he's lookin' all shifty," McCoy crows.

"I'm most certainly not," Spock retorts, getting to his feet. "Excuse me, gentlemen, my presence is required at the labs."

With that, he stalks off. Jim opens his mouth and closes it. _Spock..._

 _I shall be on the bridge shortly, Jim._ Spock sends him a wave of reassurance.

Jim exhales. It's their usual banter—everything is back to normal. Why does it feel so weird? Meanwhile, McCoy sips his coffee with an innocent expression.

"What do you think you're doing, Bones?" Jim plays along. "Quit bullying my husband."

"Have you any idea what you got yourself into?" Bones demands, unfazed.

All right, you asked for it.

"I like sex," Jim says, putting his arms akimbo.

"Stop right there," McCoy points a finger at him.

"And I'm very, very good at it—"

"I just remembered, I need to check..." Bones scratches his head, rising. "To check... nevermind, see ya."

 

Jim actually senses Spock coming back to the bridge and can tell it's him without turning when the turbolift doors swish open. The bond is amazing. They spend the rest of the shift working side by side, drawn to each other as if by magnetic force. For some reason, the crew's morale definitely improved today.

It seems like there's a silent agreement throughout the ship not to disturb them unless it's really necessary, so in the evening they are gazing at the stars on the observation deck which is otherwise deserted.

"Jim," Spock says after a while. "We fought in the sands six years ago."

"Well, next year we won't," Jim smiles softly.

"Please do not make light of this matter," Spock lowers his eyes. "It concerns your health."

His dismay trickles through the bond despite Spock's best efforts to contain it.

"I don't," Jim reaches out and slides his hand down Spock's arm. "First of all, it concerns your health. Whatever it takes, I'll do anything."

Their hands entwine, and Spock meets Jim's gaze.

"There is a way to overcome the ancient drive—with the help of meditation, but only the Masters of Gol could do it so far, and I have not attained Kolinahr. The bond should provide a balance between the need and the ability to give.* Still, due to my hybrid physiology, I do not know what to expect."

"It's gonna be okay," Jim squeezes Spock's hand. "We'll figure it out together."

Spock brings Jim's hand to his lips and kisses it, then covers it with his other hand. Jim's heart skips a beat at the intensity of Spock's love flooding their mental connection.

"The bond will settle in two or three days," Spock says quietly. "Thus, upon our return, a healer at the Embassy will be able to observe it safely and implement the official proceedings."

"Let's make a small reception after dealing with HQ? For family and friends, or I'll never hear the end of it from my folks," Jim asks, his cheeks getting a little flushed.

Spock's eyes crinkle, and he nods. "Speaking of which, I should notify my parents as well, so that they could plan their schedules accordingly."

When they go to Jim's quarters, their shoulders brush—they don't hold hands, maintaining some semblance of professionalism. Having sent messages to Vulcan and to Earth, they settle down to play chess, another thing both have been missing during these years. But eventually neither can stay focused on the game.

 

Jim wakes up well-rested, thoroughly refreshed, and alone. Spock needs less sleep, and today he didn't stay in bed, probably already in the labs—no, judging by the bond, still somewhere here.

It's 0645 on the chronometer, more than an hour before the shift. Jim wraps himself in the blanket and pads to the study area. Spock is sitting at the terminal, his hair tousled, his long fingers steepled in contemplation. He's wearing Jim's terry robe—its lapels slipped open, revealing his collarbones and chest. Jim's dick stirs. Spock looks up from the screen. His gaze rakes over Jim's half-naked body, the pupils dilating, an audible hitch in his breath. Growing hard, Jim closes the distance between them, and Spock turns in the chair towards him. The bond is pulsing and simmering; they have time for another round. Jim pushes between Spock's legs and leans down for a kiss. Spock doesn't seem to mind Jim's morning breath—he tastes faintly stale too. His half-hard cock is pressed against Jim's thigh. _There, it's too early for brooding._

Still unadjusted to the way the bond works, Jim must have thought it at Spock by accident, because Spock breaks the kiss, and now his concern is distinct.

"Spock?" Jim furrows his brow. "Something happened?"

"We should talk about it properly," Spock replies, disentangling himself.

He rises, and Jim follows him to sit on the couch. It kills the mood alright. Damn, the morning began so well.

"I have received a message from my parents," Spock lets out a small sigh. "They strongly suggest a traditional ceremony on Vulcan, although I mentioned our preference for a simple celebration on Earth."

"Right," Jim grunts. It's apparently all his brain can supply.

"The union of _t'hylara_ is considered to be sacred: a blessing for their clans," Spock continues, his voice carefully level. "The ceremony differs from the one you witnessed, being rather extensive. However, it bears no practical function—we have already bonded irrevocably, neither of us will challenge. Therefore, this ceremony is optional, and we may forgo it."

"Then this is more a matter of prestige..." Jim scratches his stubbled jaw. "Hmm, better start off on good terms with in-laws. Anyway, what would you like?"

After a few moments of silence Spock murmurs, "To walk with you through the Forge would be a great honor."

"Why didn't you say it was so important to you?" Jim takes both Spock's hands in his.

"You tend to avoid publicity whenever you can."

"As do you, because there's too much of it—first the five-year mission, and now V'ger. I had no idea. Come on, let's observe the tradition."

Spock's lips curve in a shy smile while he caresses Jim's knuckles with his thumbs. Laughing, Jim kisses Spock again and again.

"We could do it before the debrief and dealing with the media," Spock says when they pull away.

"How?" Jim asks. "We'll reach Earth by tomorrow at best to pick up my parents, then it'll take us four days only to get to Vulcan, and we're due back in six."

"I believe the Clan Mother could lend her assistance." Spock looks almost smug.

"In this case, we have a lot of things to do," Jim grabs the blanket which started to slide off. "Gotta put on some clothes."

 

The crew is quite accustomed to sudden changes in plans: launched probes are quickly returned, the exploration wrapped up. The accumulated data should be enough since the brass didn't set the exact parameters. Scotty doesn't even object to going at maximum warp, curious about the ship's full capacity after the refit and repairs.

Jim makes a few vid calls alone in his quarters, pulling several strings with the management of the Riverside Shipyard to arrange an urgent vacation for two of its leading project engineers. Frankly, he spends more energy explaining everything to the said couple. When the transmission ends, the Admiral slumps in the chair with a sigh of relief—for them he is their boy, the only one left. _Sam, how I wish we could have saved you and all your family, that you had lived to share this with us._

Peter is in his final year at the Academy and on his first deep space assignment which lasts a month. It's such a shame he is too far away to arrive for the ceremony. Must catch up with him later.

By the time Jim is on the bridge again, Spock has replied to his parents, asking to proceed with preparations. McCoy comes up, wondering why the ship is heading to Earth. They announce their intention in front of the whole bridge crew, seeing no point in keeping it secret. Everyone cheers and congratulates them—it's wonderful; Spock may be less expressive, but he is as elated as Jim. Soon the news spreads throughout the ship, and they receive more congratulations wherever they go.

After the shift, Spock shows Jim in the meld how the ceremony is supposed to be carried out. Vows being a part of it, Jim chooses to start a crash course in Vulcan rather than relying on the universal translator.

"You know, we're using the ship for our personal purposes," Jim muses aloud during a break.

"Our primary task is to test functionality of all ship systems. We could as well do that en route to Vulcan and back," Spock states matter-of-factly, mischief in his dark eyes.

"Oh yeah?" Jim chortles. "Well, if my conscientious First Officer says so, then it's alright."

 

The next morning the Enterprise entered the orbit of Earth for data transmittal, a minor resupply, and taking two guests onboard. Starfleet turned a blind eye on this quirk—if Admiral Kirk wishes to spend some time with his parents, so be it. Comms and vid calls apart, it's been about five months since Jim visited them. With Spock at his side, Jim operates the transporter console himself. Although outwardly Spock is calm and impassive as ever, the bond does communicate some jittering. Jim brushes Spock's fingers with his in a reassuring caress and pushes the lever on the control panel.

The transporter hums as two shimmering patterns emerge. All goes smoothly, and in a few moments Mom and Dad materialize on the platform. They look like a million credits. Usually Mom prefers practical clothes, and only yesterday her unruly hair was pulled into a bun, but now: a stylish haircut, an elegant suit—she even wears heels. While Dad is more casual, he is also dressed with impeccable taste. Their faces light up with wide grins when they see Spock and Jim.

"Permission to come aboard?" Dad asks.

"Permission granted," Jim grins back and walks into the chamber to greet them. Spock follows.

"So this is your Spock," Mom says as she and Dad step down from the platform.

"Yes," Jim replies proudly, hugging them and turning to his husband. "This is my Spock."

"Mr. Kirk, Mrs. Kirk," Spock inclines his head.

"Glad to meet you finally," Dad raises his hand in a Vulcan salute.

"We've heard a lot of wonderful things about you," Mom chimes in. She tries to arrange her fingers into a V, but fails.

"Here, honey, let me help you." To Jim's horror, Dad slips his hand atop of hers and hooks his thumb around her ring and pinkie fingers, pressing them gently together.

"I speak it with an accent," Mom smiles at Spock apologetically.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am, sir," Spock responds with a ta'al. His expression doesn't betray in the slightest how appalled he is by this indecent display. Fortunately, it doesn't last long.

 _My god, Mom, Dad... Spock, I'm sorry._ Jim bites his lip, his cheeks burning.

 _It's okay, Jim, but we must caution them about it before our arrival to Vulcan._ Spock glances at him.

 _Absolutely._ Jim clears his throat.

"We'll show you to your quarters," he tells his oblivious parents. "I'll ask someone to bring your luggage from the cargo module."

"Thanks, dear," Mom pats his elbow. "Oh, I wish Peter wasn't away."

"During that V'ger ordeal it was comforting that he was off planet, though," Dad says as they follow Spock and Jim out of the transporter room.

"Did you have so little faith in us, Dad?" Jim teases.

"I didn't doubt you, son," Dad chuckles, shaking his head. "You guys are the best. But, you know, just in case."

 

Departure procedures finished and course set to Vulcan, the four of them started a tour around the Enterprise. George and Winona were quite familiar with the upgraded layout, building and refitting ships being their daily routine. They asked numerous questions about the encounter with V'ger instead.

"No wonder Starfleet is tight-lipped," Dad says after Jim and Spock have related the story.

"Why were you so keen on seeking out V'ger?" Mom addresses Spock, then adds quickly, "you don't have to answer if I'm prying."

"It possessed perfect logic I strived to achieve on Vulcan," Spock replies, unperturbed. He is at peace with it, a far cry from the way he was when he enlisted again. "I hoped the contact would help me to eliminate emotions completely."

"Eliminate emotions?" Dad mumbles, blinking in confusion.

"Do you still want to do it?" Mom blurts out, discretion tossed to the wind. She gives Jim a concerned look.

"No," Spock assures them both and gazes at Jim tenderly. "Not anymore."

"No worries," Jim nods, smiling. "But let's talk about you—how have you been? How are your projects?"

"As usual," Dad shrugs. "Spending most of our time at the shipyard. There's no point in tending the field now that Peter conducts his experiments in space."

"Jim told me he became a fine agrobiologist," Spock says.

"Yeah, he loves working with soil, just like his father," Mom beams and sighs wistfully. "And recently we feel safer at the shipyard, to boot."

"Safer?" Jim narrows his eyes. "What happened?"

"V'ger, of course," Dad waves a hand. "Paps follow us everywhere. At least they don't have access to the shipyard."

"This situation is deplorable," Spock furrows his brow. "It is possible to arrange issuing of a restraining order."

"I'll contact Starfleet today," Jim mutters indignantly. "Oh, Mom, Dad, you should have let me know."

"You had a lot of other things on your mind," Mom says. "Is it different on Vulcan?"

"Such intrusion is unthinkable there," Spock tells her.

 

As expected, Jim's parents find a kindred soul in Scotty, and Jim manages to lure them out of Engineering only by reminding them about meeting with McCoy.

"Winona, George, it's great to see you!" Bones grins when they enter sickbay.

"Leonard!" Mom hugs him.

"Hi Leonard," Dad shakes his hand heartily.

 _They appear to be well acquainted,_ Spock notes with curiosity.

 _Yeah, several months after the mission Bones went with me to Iowa, and we stayed there for a while,_ Jim explains.

"Still farsighted?" McCoy asks Dad. "The modified version of Retinax didn't help?"

"How did you know?" Dad stares at him.

"Well, I'm a doctor," Bones raises an eyebrow.

"He noticed the glasses in your pocket, Dad," Jim whispers and gets a nudge in the ribs from McCoy.

"Oh," Dad laughs. "Nah, turns out I'm allergic to it in any form."

"Hmm, we could try some of Fabrini methods."

"Spock, I heard you helped with integration of their technology with ours?" Mom interjects.

"Doctor McCoy and I collaborated," Spock says, clasping his hands behind his back, a sure sign he switched into a lecture mode.

Meanwhile, Jim's stomach starts rumbling.

"Why don't we discuss it at the table?" Jim suggests. "It's lunchtime."

It's really strange: everyone is suddenly looking at him with the same expression—that of fond exasperation.

 

During lunch in a secluded recroom Spock also outlines the forthcoming ceremony; George and Winona are excited about learning traditions of another culture.

"It's going to be so beautiful!" Mom exclaims, her eyes shining.

"Looking forward to it," Dad grins.

"Glad there is a proper explanation this time," McCoy mutters under his breath. "Hopefully, no surprises."

"And Bones, could you do us a favor?" Jim claps him on the shoulder. "We would like you to be our best man."

"When _t'hylara_ are of different clans, the ceremony is to unify their families by rituals performed together. To make the number of participants from both sides even, a neutral party is required: somebody who doesn't belong to either clan and is trusted by both," Spock elaborates. "This person is called _sahrafel-veh_ —a confidant, a trusted one."

"Aw, what a thoughtful custom," Mom coos in a singsong voice.

"And you really are the trusted one, Len," Dad adds, nodding.

Bones can't keep up his grumpy demeanor and breaks into a huge smile.

"I'm honored," he inclines his head.

"I shall compile a more detailed guidance and send it to you all shortly," Spock says. "Should you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask."

 

"All decks, this is the captain speaking. Upon our arrival to Vulcan, the Enterprise will stay in orbit for three days," Jim announces via the command intercom the next morning. "Each crewmember will have a day off according to the roster. You can spend your shore leave at Vulcan Space Central or planetside. Kirk out."

The bridge perks up: as usual, many snatch their PADDs to send requests for being assigned to the same group; Sulu and Chekov high five, Uhura must be already messaging Chapel and Scotty—but this doesn't affect the work discipline much, they are professionals. Chuckling, Jim swivels in his chair and meets Spock's amused gaze. That very moment the turbolift doors open. Mom and Bones walk out and approach; Jim and Spock rise from their seats.

"Our timing couldn't be better," Mom begins briskly. "Spock, Jim, we have an idea."

"How about a small Earth-style party here, on the ship, the day after the ceremony?" McCoy continues, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Something more relaxed, informal, if you don't mind."

"What do you think?" Jim glances at Spock.

"Honoring two cultures would be quite sensible," Spock says, glancing back.

"We don't mind," Jim sums up.

"Great," Mom rubs her hands together. "We'll take care of everything, you go on with your language lessons."

"By the way, Nyota, would you lend us a hand?" McCoy turns to Uhura.

"I would be delighted," she beams.

"Then we're waiting for you in sickbay after the shift," Mom winks at her.

 _Don't you find it remarkable that our own wedding requires very little input from us, both on Vulcan and here?_ Spock tilts his head slightly to the side.

 _Let's hope we won't have to elope._ Jim smirks.

 

Mom and Dad use every opportunity to talk with Spock at length and get to know him better. After the end of the five-year mission they fully expected Jim to introduce him, but when Jim came back dispirited and brought McCoy as a company instead, they wisely chose not to push. Now they are just happy that everything worked out. Spock is equally curious about them, and he assured Jim that so much attention from them was not a burden.

By the final day of the journey half the ship appears to be involved in preparations. The personnel carry out their main duties as diligently as before, so Jim and Spock don't discourage it, accepting the enthusiasm of the crew with gratitude.

In the corridor Jim has to step aside when three ensigns move a grand piano on antigravs towards the main rec.

"Well, that escalated quickly," he murmurs and gets into the turbolift.

Spock is supervising the assessment of the ship's systems and will be on the bridge later—he should provide today's portion of data for the comprehensive report to Starfleet. Meanwhile, Jim is working on the report, sitting in the captain's chair with a PADD perched on his lap.

For a few hours he is so absorbed in graphs and percentages that Uhura calling him is a refreshing distraction.

"Captain, we are within the range to pick up news feeds from Vulcan."

The gleeful notes in her even tone tip him off at once.

"Thanks," Jim says, connecting to the network and running the universal translator.

Yeah, predictable. While Vulcans value privacy, the buzz probably can't be helped, given the status of Spock's family—Sarek's statement on the page of the clan, informing it of a recent addition, is all over the headlines.

He browses further, delving into other topics, and then, among suggested reading:    

> " **A Human T'hy'la?**
> 
> _by Skaren, member of Healers Guild, professor of history, Vulcan National University_
> 
> From days of old _t'hylara_ are revered, since they possess the strongest bond possible for Vulcan species. The spiritual part aside, a telepathic make-up of each person is as unique as fingerprints; therefore, a nearly perfect compatibility is extremely rare. The previous instance was registered 325.752 years ago.
> 
> If one of the partners is half-Vulcan, his telepathic wave patterns are atypical for the gene pool, which makes the odds even lower. But what if the other partner is a psi-null or practically psi-null Human?"

Gritting his teeth, Jim skips a detailed analysis on telepathy he has no expertise to understand.    

> "...as seen from the above, the _t'hy'la_ bond for this couple is improbable. There could be various motives behind their making such a claim. It is quite customary in the Human culture to create short-lived sensations around so-called 'celebrities'.
> 
> Preserving our own customs is of paramount importance, however. Is it appropriate that an ancient Vulcan rite involves mostly Terrans? In fact, the whole marriage procession, save for musicians, shall contain only one Vulcan—the one, whose performance of ambassadorial functions on Earth may have been overzealous."

The article is followed by an extensive discussion among scholars, healers, doctor, and many tend to agree with his points—

Jim closes the page and terminates the connection. We beat the odds, and together we are 1/4 Vulcan, that's why you're pissy. Infinite Diversity In Infinite Combinations, my ass. It's none of your business in the first place, it's between Spock and me. Ugh, this tradition—the _t'hy'la_ bond is so venerable that it's necessary to flaunt it.

He takes a deep breath, curbing an urge to jump up and pace around the bridge.

_Is everything all right, Jim?_

Dammit, projecting emotions again.

_Yeah, a bit annoyed with the report, no problem._

_Do you require my help?_

_It's okay, I'll manage._

Spock doesn't press on, but his concern doesn't wane either—he must have sensed that Jim lied. Jim sighs. Telepathy is both a blessing and a curse.

 

Determined to throw all that out of his head, Jim concentrates on paperwork again, but Spock's return to the bridge prompts memories of him confronting T'Pau.

_Are our ceremonies for outworlders?_

_It is said thy Vulcan blood is thin. Are thee Vulcan or are thee Human?_

Maybe following the tradition wasn't a good decision. Will this alienate Spock from his people more than before? Will Spock never be at home there? Maybe opting for a quiet reception would have been better, away from spotlight and commotion. Still, the ceremony holds so much meaning for Spock. Denying him this was impossible.

He tries to calm down lest his turmoil trickles, but by the way Spock glances at him throughout the shift, his attempts are clearly unsuccessful. If they keep affecting each other like that, staying in command will be out of the question. Critical situations may turn into a nightmare.

Jim freezes mid-motion, clutching the stylus. Is this regret over bonding? No, no, no, just confusion. It's new, and he needs to adjust—they both do.

'Sir?' Yeoman Hoshino asks.

'Sorry,' Jim mutters, signs the roster and gives it back to her.

Lights of the bridge seem blaring, sounds too loud. There's throbbing in his temples, as if his head is squeezed by huge clamps. Jim sinks into his chair, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. He feels rather than hears Spock approach.

_Jim, what's wrong?_

When Jim looks up, Spock is right beside him, now worried full on, even though his expression appears neutral. Jim curses inwardly—well done, Kirk—then sends a mental reply.

_Headache. I'll go to sickbay for Bones' magical hypo._

'Mr. Spock, you have the conn.'

Jim gets up and heads to the turbolift. It is definitely not fleeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I adopted this concept from [Start Infinity Again by Rynne](http://archiveofourown.org/works/280389/chapters/445528) \- a beautiful story, it and its sequel are highly recommended to everyone who loves Old Married Spirk :)


	3. The Vulcan way

"Hmm, stressed and fatigued," McCoy drawls, studying Jim's vitals. "Yesterday you were perfectly well. And there's no straining work lately."

"Just do something. My head is splitting," Jim grumbles.

"It's not a neurological reaction, so your new bond is off the suspect list," McCoy continues as he prepares a hypospray.

Oh god, it does help—spasms dissipate, and the throbbing pain goes away mere seconds after Bones pressed the hypo against Jim's neck. Jim sighs happily.

"Bones, you're a lifesaver."

McCoy fixes him with an intent gaze.

"You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

"Of course not," Jim replies, not missing a beat. "Spock is there to keep them warm."

"You two have this Vulcan mumbo-jumbo," McCoy gives a wry smile. "But don't forget to communicate."

"Thank you, Bones," Jim nods and hops off the biobed.

Bones is right, although it's easier said than done. You don't back out on such stuff like grand ceremonies, not when you almost arrived to your husband's home planet. While Spock no doubt would cancel everything if Jim asked him to, what would that accomplish? Deep down he'd be saddened, the relationship with in-laws may turn sour, plus it's admitting that a bunch of xenophobes intimidated a Starfleet admiral.

The ability to put yourself aside and focus on work comes in handy. Spock also sticks to professional topics even on the telepathic level, for which Jim is grateful. Perhaps there's no other solution except sleeping on it and then facing the music. Nobody else among the crew seems to notice any tension in the captain. Good. Hopefully, during dinner Mom and Dad won't either. Jim would hate to worry them as well.

The shift ends; he leaves the bridge with Spock in tow. It catches him off guard when in the turbolift Spock touches his arm and prompts, "You are troubled."

For an instant, Jim recoils. He makes himself relax almost at once, but the damage is done: Spock's eyes widen slightly, a wisp of hurt and confusion flickering through the bond. His heart pounding, Jim puts on his most charming smile.

"It's nothing."

 

Parents keep asking Spock about Vulcan etiquette. Half through the part which addresses hands, Mom starts shaking with quiet laughter, and soon Dad joins her—they exchange looks, giggling and wheezing, tears welling up in their eyes. Spock raises a bemused eyebrow, while Jim can't help laughing himself: the sight of Winona and George tomato red is priceless.

"We're so sorry for giving you an eyeful, Spock," Mom says, having recovered her breath.

"Yeah, hell of a first impression," Dad adds, wiping his eyes. "We solemnly promise not to scandalize any more Vulcans."

"There is no offense where none is taken," Spock replies, his lips curving up a little. "Thank you for your consideration."

Jim enjoys the light mood of the dinner, but, alas, he is called off in the middle to receive an urgent transmission from Starfleet command. The brass is not too happy with T'Pau's request they couldn't decline—their rants are expected, albeit tiresome.

After the conference, all Jim wants is shower and then bed. Headache starts to set in again. Also, something is not right, but he can't quite put his finger on it.

His quarters are dark. It's late in the evening already, and by now Spock would usually be here: they spend every night together since their bonding. That's it, the bond! Spock's emotions don't get through, as if he has withdrawn. In a matter of days the exchange became as natural as hearing... Jim grasps for the mute bond.

_Spock? Spock, where are you?_

_In my quarters, Jim._

It's so comforting to sense his thoughts.

_But why?_

_My presence distressed you today. I shouldn't have been obtrusive._

Jim groans, covering his face with his hand, then walks out. Yeah, Spock is rational, yet he has his own share of self-doubt. Despite that they agreed to put past wounds behind, at times Spock still feels insecure. Jim's sulking and refusing to explain must have evoked those fears. Telepathy can cause misunderstandings just like words or lack of them... And Jim was so caught up in rumination that he failed to notice. Shit.

He all but runs down the corridor, a few passing crew members glancing at him curiously. Jim doesn't really care. The doors of Spock's quarters open before Jim chimes for entry. A tangy scent of burnt incense engulfs Jim as he barges into the dimly lit room. Spock, in his black robes, rises from his meditation mat—Jim nearly knocks him off his feet, lunging at him and kissing him hard. Spock sighs into the kiss, pressing Jim close to himself. The dam collapses: his relief, anxiety, sadness, happiness flood Jim's consciousness.

"I love you," Jim caresses his cheek. "If I'm cranky, it doesn't mean you're not welcome. You are, always. I should've just said what upset me."

"Please do," Spock asks quietly.

 

Having read the article and the discussion under it, Spock lets out a small huff—his equivalent of an eye roll.

"This is Sarek's old nemesis, the former head of Vulcan Science Academy, dismissed from his post due to his xenophobic views. Father sued him for publicly insulting Mother."

"I'm so sorry for Amanda," Jim scowls. "And you... did you have to deal with such things often?"

"While some Vulcans do not adhere to IDIC, individuals like Skaren are scarce and disapproved of," Spock assures him.

"Comments give another impression, though," Jim mutters, reaching for Spock's hand.

"Oh, comments," Spock replies nonchalantly. "The translation was imprecise. Unfortunately, the universal translator cannot convey certain intricacies of the Vulcan grammar. Many did wonder about a possibility of this phenomenon between a half-Vulcan and a Human, but everyone criticized the author's tone. Anyway, as soon as T'Pau observes our bond, all speculations will be put to rest."

"She wasn't keen on admitting Humans either."

"As witnesses, because Vulcans are private people. Now you are my spouse. She accepts you and your family, and so does my father. If he didn't, he wouldn't have mentioned our marriage."

"There are many aspects of your culture I don't understand yet," Jim heaves a rueful sigh.

"You are a quick learner," Spock counters softly, stroking Jim's palm.

Jim closes his eyes as his body reacts instantly to the touch—his heart beating faster, pleasure driving all troubled thoughts away. He caresses Spock's long fingers, pours endless gentleness, love, and trust into their connection. _I shouldn't have been afraid. You are with me, and united we can weather anything._ Spock's other hand runs up Jim's thigh; Spock leans forward to bring their lips together. _Jim._

They scramble to their feet, and Jim is pressed against the table, Spock kissing him deeply. Jim gropes the bulge in Spock's pants. _Want you._ His own dick is pulsing, already so hard; Spock's hands slide down Jim's back and knead his ass. It's too warm in Spock's quarters. Moaning, Jim takes off his short-sleeved tunic, throws it aside and starts undressing Spock—first the robes, then the shirt. Spock undoes the fastenings of Jim's pants, pushes them down, freeing Jim's erection, and Jim humps Spock's still clothed leg mindlessly. Both are high on lust, the bond is a crazy thing: these days it's been igniting them within seconds when they were going at it, so they've been fucking desperately rather than making love. Spock's chest hair rubbing Jim's skin works Jim up even more, he turns in Spock's arms and bends over, putting his hands on the desk for support. Spock kisses Jim's back, and Jim expects him to... whoa, kisses go lower, along Jim's spine, to the tailbone, each buttock... Spock is rummaging in the desk drawer... Jim gasps at the sensation of a wet wipe. He is prepared briefly, but efficiently... Jim keens, gripping the edge of the desk—Spock's tongue laps his hole. The texture of the Vulcan tongue is slightly rough, it grazes every nerve ending as Spock circles and teases the rim, then sucks at it. Pleasure shorts out Jim's brain, he's moaning louder and louder; thankfully, the cabin walls are soundproof now. Years ago, Spock was skeptical about exploring this. He changed his opinion rather soon, however, and wished to return the favor. Boy, he mastered it afterwards. Spock's tongue prods deeper and swirls inside, loosening Jim's entrance, licking, lavishing it with saliva. Jim is like a rag doll except for his dick—it's rock hard, and Jim perceives through the bond that so is Spock's, that the tightness of his pants is uncomfortable, but he's too absorbed in his ministrations. Jim needs him, all of him.

"Spo-o-ock," Jim croons. _Please_.

A wave of Spock's want, primal and burning, crushes over him. The tongue withdraws, Spock gets up, the sound of the zipper, and the blunt, sleek cockhead pushes into Jim. Spock slides in at one go, slowly and steadily, clutching Jim by the hips. He is mindful of his strength, though, so there's no pain, just bliss. Spock's long and thick shaft fills Jim, stretches him—it's delicious, Jim doesn't stop moaning and practically screams when Spock hits his prostate. Holding him, Spock almost slips out and then slams back in. Jolts of shared pleasure course through their bodies; the desk is squeaking and creaking as Spock thrusts into Jim, moves inside him. Jim's arms are getting numb, pins and needles in his palms. Jim straightens up, shifting the weight. Spock's chest aligns with his back, Jim loves this feeling, the tickling of Spock's chest hair, Spock's breath against his cheek. He turns his head, parting his lips, but Spock won't kiss him on the mouth.

_It's unsanitary, and you know it._

Jim smirks, some things don't change. _Prude._

The smirk becomes another moan—Spock's right hand travels down, between Jim's legs, and fondles Jim's balls, squeezing gently. Long fingers wrap around Jim's leaking dick. Jim pants and groans as Spock jerks him off and pounds into him at the same pace. Despite Jim's reputation, Spock has always been the only one who takes him.

"Mine," Spock growls, fucking him harder.

"Yes," Jim breathes.

Spock nuzzles the juncture of Jim's neck and shoulder, his emotions—love, passion, joy—running free. Jim is so grateful for it: Spock has just allowed himself to experience them in full, without constant suppression, and Jim nearly blew it. _You are never too much._

_Neither are you._ _Taluhk nash-veh k'du._

Their pleasure is coiling and building; Jim senses that sheer will keeps Spock from unwinding completely.

"Come for me," Jim whispers. "Come inside me, _k'diwa_."

Spock gulps for air and shudders, relinquishing self-control. A stream of his semen shoots into Jim—this pulls Jim over the edge. He bursts too, smearing Spock's fingers and the desk as Spock makes two more shallow thrusts. Then, spent, their hearts hammering, they stand still, not wanting to separate yet. Both exhale, blissed out. Spock cuddles Jim while Jim leans onto him and strokes his hands.

They savor kisses after, lying in bed. Spock tastes of mint.

"As for the marriage procession, there is a possibility..." he murmurs.

 

It's like a Christmas morning or the day Jim was promoted to Captain. The Enterprise is to drop out of warp in five minutes. Jim smiles to himself and puts his his clammy palms on the armrests. Spock is standing next to the captain's chair, dress uniform hugging his lithe frame perfectly. His closeness is soothing, his gaze is warm when he glances at Jim. It's gonna be alright. Jim nods.

Parents are here on the bridge, bright-eyed and trying to appear calm. The ship decelerates, inertial dampeners kicking in smoothly; the stars move slower, and a red, arid world comes into view on the main screen.

 

Bones grunts, adjusting his duffle bag as they step through the airlock and enter Vulcan Space Central.

"1.4 g, eh?" Dad says to Mom. "I almost forgot how a stronger gravity feels."

Quite logically, Vulcans keep the artificial gravity of their space dock the same as on their planet.

"Eating less was a wise choice," Mom agrees.

"And antigrav suitcases too," McCoy mutters under his breath.

Jim's duffle bag is suddenly not so light, and it takes more energy to move, as if he put on good thirty kilos or works out with weights. Spock is walking beside him like this change is nothing. It affects him, of course, but doesn't cause any discomfort. And six years ago Jim had to fight him in such conditions. The idea seems wilder than it did then.

 _I could carry your belongings_ , Spock offers innocently.

 _Oh, save it_ , Jim snorts.

Happy chattering fills the quiet halls as the first shore leave party follows them. While there are no nightclubs on Vulcan, and the most potent drink you can get in local bars is mild Vulcan port, it's hard to get bored here, with all the museums, science workshops, nature sanctuaries and historical sites. The space dock staff and visitors observe the newly arrived with dignified curiosity—most Vulcans usually prefer to be among their own kind, and still very few venture to sign up into interplanetary crews.

A trip to the designated hangar is short, but Mom and Dad are panting. There is less oxygen in the air, and for them it’s like climbing a mountain, not crossing the hall. Tomorrow involves some actual climbing, so maybe they will adjust by then. If not, an aircar will be on standby.

Spock squares his shoulders, curbing the slight nervousness. In the hangar, next to a shuttlecraft of latest model, Sarek and Amanda are waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taluhk nash-veh k'du - I cherish thee


	4. Make yourselves at home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, it's been five months! A new job kept interfering with my writing, but here it is, an update.

Tall, austere, and stately, Sarek hardly changed. Dark green robes set off his smooth complexion—he is obviously in better health than six years ago. Beside him, Amanda is gentle and petite, in a peach-colored dress and a matching shawl. There's a little more gray in her hair, lines on her face a little more pronounced, but she is just as beautiful as she was.

"Peace and long life," Sarek raises his hand in a ta'al, while Amanda beams.

"Father, Mother," Spock mirrors the gesture. "This is he who is my husband."

He extends his two fingers to Jim, and Jim touches them with his own.

"Admiral," Sarek nods.

"Jim," Amanda says, her eyes shining.

Phew, they seem genuinely glad, not just tolerating.

"Ambassador, Lady Amanda," Jim musters his most confident voice, "allow me to present my parents."

"George Kirk," Dad makes a flawless Vulcan salute.

"Winona Kirk," Mom smiles somewhat bashfully and doesn't try to repeat the feat. "Nice to meet you."

"Your presence honors us," Sarek replies with deference.

"It's so nice to meet you too," Amanda adds eagerly.

"Doctor McCoy is our _sahrafel-veh_ ," Spock says, glancing at Bones.

"Sir, madam," McCoy inclines his head.

"We are honored," Sarek returns the greeting. "Let us proceed to the shuttle."

Amanda gives Bones a warm smile as she and Sarek usher their guests into the trim, powerful spacecraft. Furnished with all convenience of a private shuttle, it is more like a hotel suite inside. Mom and Dad settle down in soft comfortable armchairs, Bones takes a sit next to them; Jim, Spock, Amanda and Sarek occupy the opposite row. Safety lights go out, and the shuttle begins to glide. Having left hangar, it accelerates, its large viewports offering a spectacular panorama of the red planet growing bigger and bigger.

"It was very considerate of you to meet us, Ambassador. You spared us additional paperwork," Jim says.

"Ensuring a prompt and convenient arrival of the marriage party was only logical," Sarek counters, but the expression of his dark, sharp eyes is pleased. After years of practice you learn to notice Vulcan subtleties.

The shuttle enters the atmosphere, flying over the Eastern part of Na'Nam, Vulcan's main continent. Provinces Khomi, Shial, Kir, Lhai stretch underneath—vast deserts, streaked by mountain chains and deep canyons, sparse rivers flowing into the Thanar Sea.

"We can't beam down because of the force field over the city, right?" Dad asks.

"Yes, the atmosphere here is thinner than on Earth, and meteorite showers are frequent," Sarek explains.

"To protect the whole city, a most impressive technology," Mom murmurs thoughtfully.

"You have been to Vulcan before, haven't you?" Amanda leans forward in her chair a little, addressing Mom and Dad.

"Yes, briefly, we both served on the Kelvin then," Dad nods and turns to Mom. "How long has it been, Win?"

"Hmm, forty-three years ago. George Junior was still a baby, and I was anxious to get back to him..." Mom falters for a moment, then continues cheerfully, "Oh look! This must be the ceremonial site?"

"Indeed," Sarek replies.

Now they are flying over Shial, low enough to discern sand dunes, craters, scattered vegetation, and a stone valley surrounded by towering mountains. One of them is rather familiar: an extinct volcano, with intricately carved arch bridges that lead to a magnificent circled structure—the place of _Koon-ut-kal-if-fee_ , Marriage or Challenge. Jim can't hold back a smile, joy flooding his chest. This time no one is to stand between Spock and him, this time he will pledge himself to Spock and claim him as his own, this time everything is as it should be. A reciprocal wave of elation comes through the bond; Spock is gazing at Jim gently, and Jim caresses his fingers again in a chaste _ozh'esta_.

"And there is the family temple we'll visit on our way to it," Amanda points at a cluster of mountains. Mom, Dad, and Bones peer in that direction just as Jim does—there's nothing but rock.

"The temple itself is not observable from this angle," Sarek elaborates. "You shall see tomorrow."

"Is this a fiery pit nearby?" McCoy gasps in disbelief.

"It is called Ayhan, The Holy Fire," Spock says. "Our ancestors believed it cleansed the spirit from bitterness and malignity."

"Cleansed by the fire, in the desert," McCoy grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry, Doctor. It's winter in this hemisphere, so it won't be too hot in the morning," Amanda assures him.

"I read this natural gas torch has been burning for three thousand years," Mom tells Dad quietly.

"What an amazing planet," Dad whispers.

The shuttle keeps descending gradually, so when they approach Shi'Kahr, the city rises before them—steel, glass and concrete, sharp peaks piercing the orange sky. Sectors of well-tended fields encase the urban area like a gem, followed by a massive stone wall. The course is set to the closest gate. They are scanned at the check point, but not detained otherwise—an Embassy pass has its perks. A road to the city divides two agricultural sectors where sturdy Vulcan crops are flourishing.

"As if it's not the desert at all," Jim says in awe.

"The force field keeps the temperature milder," Spock replies. "Still, it is too hot in summer, so harvesting takes place in late spring."

"Summer here is a natural break, like winter on Earth," Amanda chimes in.

"To coin a phrase, fascinating," McCoy murmurs.

Upon entering the city, the shuttle slows down, so that the guests could observe it better. Skyscrapers are sword-like in shape, glistening in the sun. Vulcan architecture is all clear lines; streets are broad and straight, their planning most efficient. There's less hustle and bustle typical for a metropolis, Shi'Kahr is rather laid back: people are sauntering in their robes with grace of models on a catwalk.

The guests are looking around while Sarek and Amanda give a tour. Light nostalgia seeps through the bond. Spock didn't take time to appreciate his hometown after the five year mission—he spent barely a day at home and then went to Gol.

The shuttle leaves the main stream of traffic, joining a smaller one. Ahead, another wall, with embrasures and arrowslits, marks the ancient borders of the city. They fly through an arched gate and into a square. While the modern part was logical, orderly, Old Town is anything but. Its buildings are made of reddish stone and decorated with lace-like carvings and elaborate mosaics, lush crowns of trees are bright red. Narrow winding streets form a maze—you really need eidetic memory to remember each turn.

"...Shi'Kahr grew around lake Iria," Amanda continues her impromptu history lecture. "In Ancient Golic Vulcan this name sounded as _hirat vre-ha_ \- crimson life vessel."

"Because of _induku_ trees?" Mom asks.

"That's right," Amanda nods, grinning.

"There must have been a lot of rivalry for this source of fresh water in the desert," Dad rubs his chin.

"Indeed there was. However, after the Reformation, all water bodies became public property," Sarek replies genially.

"Oh, this is T'Plana-Hath school Spock attended," Amanda says as they pass a mansion with an observatory.

"I can see where your passion to the stars was nurtured, Spock," McCoy smirks.

Spock doesn't dignify it with an answer. Sarek raises an eyebrow.

"Our boys have it in common," Mom tells him, smiling. "Stargazing since they were kids."

Jim squeezes Spock's elbow, and Spock's lips curve up slightly.

Traditional Vulcan houses resemble the city itself in the miniature: an ensemble of interconnected buildings protected by a fence. Humble homes consist of two or three parts, whereas rich ones are very complex. The shuttle stops in front of a large residence. Sarek and Amanda lead the way, followed by Mom, Dad, and Bones. Jim and Spock are the last to exit.

A gust of sultry breeze brings a bittersweet scent of herbs and parched soil. Jim takes a deep breath, but it's not enough—less oxygen than Humans are accustomed to. After a few hours of adjustment it won't be this noticeable.

They enter a spacious yard and walk along a stony path towards the main wing. Rocks, bushes, small trees are tastefully arranged, imitating a natural landscape. This desert garden is all peace and harmony. Jim perceives Spock's quiet joy: he returned here at peace with himself and brought his _t'hy'la_ , the spouse he desired.

The sun is burning despite that it's winter afternoon, so the guests hurry into the shade of the porch. Sarek opens a heavy forged door.

"Please come in."

It is much cooler inside: thick walls ward off the heat, and the light that gets through stained glass windows is soft. Brass lamps hanging from the high ceiling on the chains switch on—modern technology blended with ancient legacy. They find themselves in a round room; there's a stone drinking fountain in the center and low comfortable divans around it, for visitors to rest after a tiresome journey.

"Make yourselves at home," Amanda says cordially. "George, Winona, let me show you the part of the house prepared for you."

"Doctor," Sarek turns to McCoy.

"Thank you," Bones inclines his head.

" _La’ertau sochya t’okelek_," Jim ventures, hoping he doesn't mangle the phrase too much. His cheeks are flushing. For a second, a surprised expression flickers in Sarek's eyes.

" _Rom’lashan na’dular_," he replies.

" _Wa’na’shau_, dear," Amanda beams at Jim.

She and Sarek head in opposite directions, guiding Jim's parents and Bones respectively. Bones claps Jim on the shoulder before going; Mom and Dad give him thumbs up behind their backs.

"Come, Jim," Spock says softly.

The round hallway opens into an atrium which serves as a dining room and is full of Terran flowers in planters: roses and orchids, dahlias, lavender...

"It seems like your mom has a green thumb," Jim observes.

"Gardening is her favorite pastime, yes," Spock nods. "Most of these are gifts from Father. It started since he was courting her, I believe."

"We should take some Vulcan plants with us for the arboretum," Jim pecks Spock on the cheek. "To remind you of home while we are away."

"My home is at your side," Spock murmurs, clasping Jim's hand.

They cross the atrium and a corridor and walk through another door. Spock's den is pretty much an autonomous house. The outer room is a study: its antique furnishing is a work of art—the desk, the chairs, the bookcase cut from dark wood, so rare and therefore precious on this planet. Somehow a top-notch computer and a holoprojector look quite organically here. A collection of traditional weapons and tapestries adorns the walls; a _kal-toh_ and a 3D chess set sit on a smaller table. Maybe they'll find time for a match or two. Heavy crimson drapes separate the study from a bedroom where Spock leads Jim.

The low bed is really huge, with many cushions and a gorgeous gauze baldaquin. You could expect this kind of thing in the most hedonistic societies the Enterprise has ever visited. There are ornate railings on three sides and only one "entrance" into it.

"Boy, it's like a tent," Jim drops his bag beside the bed.

"Nomadic Vulcans did use tents as mobile homes," Spock nods. "It inspired the design which was common before the Reformation."

"And you had this all by yourself," Jim draws Spock to himself and kisses him.

"Getting accustomed to a Starfleet dormitory was somewhat challenging," Spock agrees between the kisses.

The bedroom also has a meditation place and a kitchenette.

"Bathroom is over there," Spock points at the door across the room. "However, the bath house is more relaxing than shower."

"You've intrigued me," Jim whispers. "You know, I'm afraid the farm in Iowa isn't this impressive."

"It doesn't have to be," Spock breathes against his lips.

 

They use the brief respite to send Spock's belongings to the beam up point. It doesn't take much time: for almost three years his bags stayed unpacked in the closet. He just left them there, no need for valuables at Gol.

In half an hour everyone gathers in the atrium for dinner. Jim's mouth starts watering as soon as he catches the smell of food which is absolutely fantastic: it must be some stew or casserole, then, much to his surprise, definitely a steak, and freshly baked bread.

Serving bowls are placed in the center of a round table, and there are smaller bowls for each person.

"According to the Vulcan custom, you put into your plate any dish you prefer," Amanda tells the guests. "Here's _c'torr_ , usually eaten with _kreyla_."

She gestures at green stew and small round flatbreads.

"It's green because of _d'mallu_ , a local vegetable, rich in minerals and very good for health. Here's _ulan_ soup, with _favinit_ —edible orchid—and _kaplat_ noodles. Here's grilled steak with _mah'ta_ spice, it gives the meat a rather piquant taste."

"I thought Vulcans were vegetarians," Mom says, her eyes wide.

"We are," Sarek replies.

"That's for us, Earthers," Amanda huffs a laugh. "Please help yourselves, I hope the food will be to your liking."

Sarek obviously favors _c'torr_ ; Mom has it too, curiosity written all over her face. Amanda, Dad, and Bones tuck into the steak. Spock opts for the soup, as does Jim.

"Jim, try the steak, it's heavenly," Dad teases.

"So is the soup," Jim deflects, although he means it: the broth has a reach taste, and the flower leaves are oddly nutritious.

"Ma'am, it's the best steak I've eaten in years," McCoy drawls. "Could you share the recipe?"

"But of course," Amanda says, pleased and amused.

Come on, Bones, you're doing that on purpose. Jim is resolved not to look at the meat.

 _Please don't refrain from the steak if you want it._ Spock's mental voice startles him a little.

 _I want you inside me more, so no spicy food tonight_ , Jim smirks, bumping his knee with Spock's under the table.

Spock swallows audibly, abashed, turned on and trying to keep his reactions under control. Thankfully, everyone else is too engrossed in chatting to notice.

"How is your adjustment going?" Amanda asks Mom and Dad.

"Not as quick as it used to, but we'll be fine," Mom grins. "Besides, Leonard is here."

"Please notify us if additional arrangements for tomorrow are necessary," Sarek says.

"No worries, we still have the old Startfleet training in us," Dad's good-natured tone gets a stubborn edge to it.

"It must have been difficult to raise children while serving in space?" Amanda changes the subject.

"To tell the truth, yes," Mom replies. "We tried to manage, but when Jim arrived, we had to choose. I stayed planetside, and George continued to serve."

"Later I transferred as well," Dad adds. "When you're out there, you don't see your kids grow."

"Yeah, damn right," McCoy mutters, staring into his bowl, and Dad squeezes his shoulder sympathetically.

"You must have made some tough choices yourself, moving from Earth to Vulcan," Mom says to Amanda.

"At first we lived on Earth, until the end of Sarek's term as an ambassador. Then moving to Vulcan was... logical," Amanda gives her husband a fond glance.

"I take it you are relocating again," Sarek addresses Spock suddenly. "The country estate is now yours, consider it."

Whoa. McCoy mouthes "wow"; Mom and Dad look as gobsmacked.

"We have already decided to share Jim's apartment in San Francisco," Spock counters, no trace of surprise registering on his features.

_Did you know?_

_I did not._

"Thank you. You really shouldn't," Jim mumbles, at a loss. Flatly refusing would be rude. Accepting this grand present isn't easy either.

"Just remember you have a home here too," Amanda coaxes them.

"Well, our present is yet to come," Mom grins too lively.

"Please do not feel obligated—"

"It's okay, we don't need any—"

"Shush," Dad snorts, waving off Spock's and Jim's protests.

It's not as if his parents are poor, but sure as hell they don't own estates. Both families move on to details of tomorrow's ceremony, yet even McCoy's grumbling about dangers of the desert does little to dispel the awkwardness. When the dinner is over, Bones excuses himself, saying that he needs to re-check his medical supplies. Sarek invites Dad and Mom to his study for further discussion, so it's only Spock, Jim, and Amanda who stay in the atrium.

"I'm afraid our best intentions had quite the opposite effect," Amanda sighs, as Spock and Jim help her to clear the table.

"We appreciate the sentiment, Mother," Spock says earnestly.

"That this is a way of keeping in touch," Jim adds.

"It is," Amanda replies ruefully. "We didn't mean to embarrass George and Winona."

"Knowing them, they are already plotting something and then won't take no for an answer," Jim assures her.

"This must be a family trait," Spock deadpans, his expression blank, but amusement twinkling in his eyes and seeping through the bond.

"Which works like a charm on you," Jim quirks an eyebrow.

"Jim, dear, you're the only one who can pull that off with him," Amanda shakes her head, laughing.

Blush spreads across Spock's cheeks. God, he's so cute and gorgeous. This degree of trust: choosing not to hide his emotion, allowing his mother and his husband to see... Apparently, Jim stares at Spock like a love-besotted fool he is, because Spock's blush deepens. Amanda is still giggling. She takes the tray with the dishes and goes to the kitchen, leaving them alone.

Spock slips his arm around Jim's waist and pulls him close. Jim chortles as their teeth clash; Spock is smiling into the kiss too—it's frantic and hurried at first, but then they begin to savor more, their tongues sliding languidly against each other, their lips moving slower.

"You mentioned a relaxing bath," Jim purrs when they pull back.

"Yes," Spock takes him by the hand.

They walk out of the atrium and cross another gallery which leads to the backyard. Two smaller structures don't disturb the harmony of the garden: a gazebo, made of intertwined _induku_ branches, and a few yards away from it—an oval building with two domes.

The heat of the day has lessened somewhat, but Jim is glad that they enter the coolness of the bathhouse. Spock locks the door behind them. There is a large wardrobe in the changing room, and Spock opens one of its doors. Everything necessary is inside: clean robes and towels, washcloths, jars with soap.

"We can put our uniforms here, this compartment is mine," Spock says.

"Okay," Jim grins, pulling at the hem of Spock's tunic and tugging it off.

They caress each other while undressing; both are half-hard by the time they are naked. The stone mosaic floor is warm under Jim's bare feet as he follows Spock to the adjacent room. Soft diffused light comes through small round windows in the roof and from forged lamps on the walls. There is a round basin carved out of monolith. Spock opens the valve of an old fashioned faucet, and water starts to fill the basin. They put the soap jar, the washcloths, and the towels on the shelf beside, then step into the basin together and settle down, facing each other, legs entwined. The water is nice, not too hot. Jim wets his hair under the jet, enjoying the water streaming down his body. Spock's dark eyes are fixed on him. Jim's nipples perk up as Spock's deft fingers slide up his chest and stroke them. Spock's hands trace Jim's shoulders, his neck, jaw, earlobes... Spock scoops some soap from the jar and applies it to Jim's hair. The Vulcan soap is fragrant, viscous and foams very well. Spock's fingertips massage Jim's scalp gently, in circular motions—Jim groans and rolls his hips, sliding his dick against Spock's. Spock lets out a gasp, but his hands don't waiver, he's deliberate and thorough as he is with any task.

"Keep it up and you'll make me come," Jim almost mewls.

"I intend to make you climax multiple times tonight," Spock whispers.

"Yeah, talk dirty to me," Jim whispers back. "What if you... ah... wear me off... and I'll be too spent for our desert hike tomorrow?"

"Then I'll carry you," Spock replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Bridal style," Jim laughs.

Now it's Spock's turn—Jim combs his fingers through Spock's wet silky strands, working the foam in. Spock sighs, his eyes falling shut, as Jim moves from the crown of his head to the nape and from the nape—sideways. Their shared bliss fills the thriving bond. Spock moans when Jim carefully rubs the tips of his ears. Jim leans in and presses his lips to the small scar below Spock's left cheekbone.

"How did you get this?" he asks quietly.

"A _le-matya_ attacked me on my way to Gol," Spock murmurs, his gaze heavy-lidded. "I treated the scratch, but it scarred."

"Their poison is deadly," Jim frowns. "And of course you didn't have a phaser or a dermal regenerator. You're so irresponsible about your safety."

"So are you about yours," Spock raises an eyebrow.

"Then we're stuck together, looking out for each other," Jim concludes and reaches for Spock's hand.

He grazes the lines on Spock's palm with the nail of his forefinger. Spock whimpers, getting harder. The water is up to their chests already, so they rinse their hair, and Jim turns off the tap. They take the washcloths with the soap and scrub each other carefully, worshipping every inch of skin. No matter how many times Jim touched Spock, Jim will always want to do it again and again—his neck, his angular shoulders, his hairy chest and flat stomach, his slightly slouching back... And Jim will always crave Spock's touch. Completely lost in the sensation of exploring and being explored, of Spock's hands spreading the soft foam along the planes of his body, Jim reclines on the sloped backrest of the bath, his legs wide apart. Spock holds him, supporting Jim as their hips undulate. The water sloshes around them; Spock slowly slides his shaft against Jim's dick and balls. They kiss lazily, endlessly—all the time in the universe belongs to them. Jim squeezes Spock's taut ass, and Spock hisses in pleasure, thrusting faster. Their moans fill the room and echo under the domed roof. Spock is so fucking precise, he knows Jim's every spot. Groaning, Jim slips his thumb between Spock's buttocks and circles the puckered rim of Spock's entrance—he doesn't push in, just teases. Spock hums in approval, his lips curving up against Jim's cheek.

There was a time when Jim avoided at all costs getting attached. Loving someone that much was too painful, too dangerous. There was a time Spock wouldn't even admit he was capable of loving. Unwittingly they broke those self-imposed rules. Such a simple thing needed such a long road of acceptance each of them walked. Now they have each other, and only it matters.

Their bond is glowing. Its burning, all-consuming drive has evolved into a sense of deep contentment, unity, reassurance. It eclipses everything. 

Warmth spills between them as their steady rhythm falters. They lie in each other's arms, surrounded by soft, squishy foam. The only sounds are their shallow breathing and the rustle of countless tiny bubbles bursting. The spicy aroma of desert flowers and herbs which excited the senses is now lulling. The bond is filled with their blissful afterglow. Jim mumbles protests when after a while Spock starts to stir and eventually sits up.

"You are falling asleep, my Jim," Spock chuckles, washing away from their stomachs white blobs that float and mingle in the water. "Swimming in the spring would be beneficial."

"Are we going to parade au naturel in Amanda's garden?" Jim grasps Spock's proffered hand and lets himself to be pulled out of the bath.

"That would be unwise," Spock smirks at his loopy babble and smooches him.

These relaxing herbs must have really gone to Jim's head, because his legs are wobbly, but Spock's grip around his waist is firm—his husband won't let him fall. The adjacent room is much bigger, the domed ceiling higher, and there is a large octagonal pool built on a natural mineral spring.

"Back in the day Vulcans lived it up," Jim murmurs, stunned.

"They indulged their passions," Spock muses.

They step into the pool, into the cool sparkling water. It's tickling and pleasant.

"Sometimes they still do," Jim purrs in his most seductive voice.

Spock wins the argument by shutting him up with a kiss. For a few minutes they wade in the water until the haze in Jim's head dissipates, and then they swim, splashing and chasing each other, as if they're teenagers, not grown men. Never before in their relationship have they been so at ease with themselves. For now it's only them: their duties or ranks don't exist.

 

Refreshed in the spring, they cleaned up the bathroom and donned simple light robes and sandals. The sun has already set when they leave the bathhouse. The heat has finally abated, the air is balmy. Meditation in the garden will be great. Spock taught Jim the basic meditation techniques years ago, and after the bonding Jim decided to expand his knowledge since handling the bond needs skills and an ordered mind.

They approach the gazebo. Lush scarlet foliage hides its inner part, so it was difficult to tell from afar whether someone was there. Sarek's posture is prim and perfect as he sits in _loshirak_ position. In front of him, flame flickers in the _asenoi_ shaped like a lotus, clearly a Terran memento. Not wishing to intrude, they start to walk away, but Sarek opens his eyes.

"You may stay if you are amenable."

Meditation is a private experience—to be invited for a shared session is a special gesture of goodwill. Spock gives a small bow which Jim mimics. They go in and sit opposite Sarek, so that the three of them form a triangle. Jim's palms are suddenly sweaty, the robe fits him like a sack, his muscles are stiff as if he didn't spend the past hour in a warm bath. When Sarek was a guest on the Enterprise, it was one thing: a captain receiving an ambassador. Being under the scrutiny of a father-in-law is quite another.

 _My father means well, Jim_ , Spock sends a wave of encouragement.

 _Rationally I know it_ , Jim glances at Spock with a feeble smile.

"Amanda and I developed the ability to communicate through the bond within a year," Sarek says, watching them. "However, even if both are telepaths it requires time."

"Sorry, sir," Jim mutters. "We didn't intend to be rude."

"To witness the power of your bond is a blessing," Sarek's impassive expression softens. "And like you did before, James, you brought peace into this house."

Jim is speechless. Sarek shifts his gaze to Spock.

"The clan is graced, my son."

"Thank you, Father," Spock replies, bright-eyed.

With that, Sarek focuses on the _asenoi_ again and returns into the meditative state. Spock nods at Jim, silently suggesting that he try to initiate his own. It shouldn't be difficult, they do it every evening, but Jim's mind is racing.

 _Rise above your emotions_ , Spock instructs him. _Observe rather than react._

Jim listens to his husband's calm mental voice. They allow their joy to permeate them, to be the source of serenity and relaxation. The bouncing energy morphs into inner power, and little by little a light trance overtakes Jim's consciousness. Somehow, it as refreshing for the mind as the warm water was for the body.

Jim can't tell how long it lasts. When he comes to, night has fallen, and moths are fluttering around lanterns in the garden. Sarek and Spock are on the deep level of meditation which Jim can't yet achieve. As the father and the son sit opposite each other, their family resemblance is especially striking: chiseled features, lean but strong build, regal bearing... One blood despite the discords they had. Jim rises quietly. Spock will join him later.

Back in Spock's part of the house, Jim can finally browse through books in the study. There are works from all over the quadrant, some editions real rarities. On one of the shelves an old tattered tome is placed aside, as if to be found easily. Jim picks it and sprawls on the luxurious bed. This must be Traditional Golic, not the modern language, because he can recognize only a few familiar words among the calligraphic curves. The illustrations are captivating—journeys and battles of antiquity, heroes and villains, their clothes ornate, their hair long, their faces rife with emotions. Jim drinks in the scenes from Vulcan's volatile past, turning page after page. A sheet of paper falls out. It's in English, in the familiar neat handwriting. The story absorbs him, he reads and re-reads the verses, memorizing, savoring them...

Someone knocks at the door.

"Spock, Jim, are you there?" Amanda's voice calls.

Jim springs to his feet and hurries to the outer room.

"Please come in, Amanda."

"Done with meditation for today?" Amanda asks cheerfully.

"Yeah," Jim grins, helping her with two flat boxes she's carrying. "What's this?"

"Open and you'll see," Amanda replies, her face alight with excitement.

Jim puts the boxes on the couch and takes off the lids. It is a set of two umber robes made of strong, flowing fabric. Their patterns differ somewhat, but share the same triangular motif.

"This is yours," Amanda points at the robe to the right. "Getting dressed might be a bit tricky since it's an old style formal robe. Spock will help you."

"It's such an honor," Jim breathes, "to wear your Clan's color and sign."

"You're a part of the Clan too," Amanda suddenly chokes up. "God, I'm so, so happy. You and Spock are made for each other. If you're with him I don't have to worry because you love him and care for him. For three years you weren't together he was lost."

"As was I," Jim whispers, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"From now on you won't part," Amanda hugs him.

After she leaves, Jim stands transfixed. It finally sinks in: his reservations about not being accepted into the family proved wrong. Such a warm welcome from both in-laws was far beyond Jim's most daring hopes. And he's going to spend the rest of his life with Spock. Jim exhales to chase away tears prickling his eyes. Smiling to himself, he slides a full length mirror out of the wall niche, sheds his home apparel and reaches out for the ceremonial robe.

It's pleasant to the touch, but dammit, how do you drape it? Too many folds would look ridiculous. The robe is pooling around him while he's fumbling with it. Unlike Starfleet uniforms, this outfit won't show off your fit body. At least he managed to stay fit, desk job didn't affect him much. And still, there are signs of aging: a crease between his eyebrows, more wrinkles around his eyes... Jim's smirk fades as he assesses himself the mirror. Maybe revitalizing procedures are not to be scoffed at. Year by year this withering will be more and more apparent. Spock will have to put up with it, watching his Human spouse decline.

The bond pings with reciprocating concern. Focused on his own thoughts—a Human wont—Jim didn't sense Spock's consciousness emerge from meditation. It must have been a few minutes ago because Spock is somewhere very close. He already crossed the garden and entered the house.

The door creaks. Spock walks in and stops in his tracks, his admiration suffusing the bond.

"I was trying to figure out how to put this on," Jim gestures at the robe with an awkward laugh.

"Allow me," Spock comes up.

His skillful hands fold here, tuck there, caressing Jim's chest and sides. It's amazing how the oversized garb begins to take shape. With all Jim's experience in foreplay, Jim had no idea that being dressed up could be so sensual. Finally, Spock fastens a clasp between the layers, and Jim just stares into the mirror. The rich fabric follows the lines of his body, accenting his stature. He resembles one of those Pre-reform noblemen drawn in the book. Spock embraces him from behind and whispers, " _Ashal-veh_ , you are beautiful."

It's like a bucket of cold water. Humans grow old faster than Vulcans, don't they? Ours is an unequal match in more ways than one. Not only our background...

"Jim?" Spock prompts gently, sensing Jim's tension.

It would be unfair to pretend or give elusive answers again. Last time misunderstandings hurt Spock. Jim sighs.

"Say, Spock... What about when I'm not young anymore?"

"My regard for you shall not diminish," Spock's gaze meets Jim's in the mirror. "On the contrary, I find that it grows with years."

"Eventually I won't be there. It breaks my heart that one day you will be alone."

"Considering hazards of our profession—"

Jim turns in Spock's arms to face him.

"But if we make it to the retirement?"

"I am grateful to the universe for every moment with you," Spock tightens the embrace. "And shall be my entire life."

"Promise me you will remarry... after..." Jim strokes Spock's cheek, "so that there will be someone to keep you company and guide you through your Time."

"Oh Jim, let's not think about it, not yet," Spock pleads, pulling Jim closer to himself and burying his face in Jim's neck.

 _Sorry, sorry,_ Jim rubs soothing circles on Spock's back. _Weird stuff pops into my head._

Jim's breath is taken away as Spock kisses him, a fierce protective feeling flooding the bond. Spock pushes his tongue past Jim's lips and makes love to Jim's mouth—Jim gasps as heat spreads in his lower belly. Pouring comfort into the kiss and through the bond, Jim keeps caressing Spock's back. When they pull away, Spock just looks and looks at Jim, as if he can't have enough. Jim opens the clasp and unwraps the ceremonial robe, holding his gaze. _I'm yours._

Spock slides his hands along Jim's torso, lower and lower, until his fingers hook under the hem of Jim's briefs. Slowly, Spock tugs the briefs down, and Jim's hard cock springs free—Spock's desire spikes on the other side of the bond. His own erection tents up his light robe. There are too many clothes between them. Jim undoes the sash of Spock's robe, and Spock lets it slip off his shoulders. He helps Jim out of the intricate garb which they put carefully on the couch. Kissing, they get rid of their underwear; Spock grabs Jim by the ass, presses their bodies together, and they grind their cocks against each other, grunting, relishing the friction. Spock's length is so deliciously wet, Jim wants it in his mouth. Trailing kisses along Spock's neck, chest, stomach, he gets down on his knees and nuzzles Spock's crotch, inhaling the scent of his mate. Spock's pubic hair tingles Jim's face as he kisses Spock's shaft.

"Jim," Spock breathes and puts his palm on Jim's cheek.

Jim looks up at him—Spock's eyes are black with arousal, his mouth slack with pleasure.

"Yeah, bed," Jim murmurs.

In the bedroom, they crawl into the center of the large bed, and Spock lies down on his back. Settling between his legs, Jim kisses Spock's inner thighs. Spock's shaft is standing at attention, its head tinged green, natural lube leaking from the slit. Jim licks the underside of Spock's dick, tracing the veins, lapping droplets of slick moisture Spock is secreting—Spock's taste is mild, creamy, a bit tangy. Spock moans as Jim swallows the tip and starts sucking. Jim stimulates the sensitive head with his tongue while pumping the rest of the shaft in his fist. His own stiff cock grazes the sheets; Jim groans and sucks harder, takes Spock in deeper. Spock cards his fingers through Jim's hair, moaning louder. Getting him off is such a treat, a way to express physically how much Jim cherishes him. Jim slips his hand to the base of Spock's shaft and massages this area down to his perineum, caressing Spock's internal testicles. Spock keens, writhing under him; somehow the bond lets Jim know when to stop, or their fun will end too soon.

"Come here," Spock pants, and Jim obliges.

He moves up, peppering Spock's body with kisses, and straddles Spock's hips. As they kiss languidly, Spock slips his slick finger into Jim's hole. He pistons the finger inside and soon adds another—Jim is pliant, they both are, after all the sex they've had almost every day.

"Glad you don't object to kissing after a blowjob," Jim drawls, enjoying the stretch.

"One has to make compromises," Spock raises an eyebrow.

Lust emanating from him belies his matter-of-fact tone, though. Jim snorts and rises on his knees. His breath hitches as Spock removes the fingers; Jim positions himself, so that Spock's wet glans presses against his entrance, titillating the sensitive skin. Their gazes locked, Jim descends, accepting Spock in. Fleeting romances stand no comparison with this: belonging, home. Ever since they became an item, it has been so, and always will. They belong to each other. Spock fills him, the sweet pressure building; Jim pushes down, encasing Spock's whole length. Spock lets out a contented grunt and bucks his hips—Jim groans as Spock hits his prostate. Spock's dick feels amazing inside him. Jim licks his lips and begins to move at a slow, careful pace. The bond made sex even more intimate: it brings so much pleasure to sense how Spock loves fucking him, watching Jim slide up and down. Spock traces Jim's neck with two extended fingers, palms his chest, playing with the nipples, then holds Jim by the waist as Jim moves faster. His back arched, his hard-on bobbing, Jim is spurred by Spock's burning desire. Moaning, Jim takes himself in hand and strokes himself, aware that the sight is driving Spock mad.

_Yeah, babe, see what you're doing to me._

With a low rumbling sound in his throat, Spock grips Jim's ass and pounds it—Jim rides him hard, panting and gasping, completely unhinged. Each time they keep exploring each other, and what they already know only adds to it. Before they met, Jim didn't think monogamy was his thing, but Spock is everything to him: his lover, his soulmate, his husband. Jim pauses, and so does Spock, responding to him immediately. In a surge of tenderness, Jim grasps Spock's hands and kisses his fingertips one by one. A soft smile touches Spock's lips, his love enveloping Jim; he sits up and cradles Jim in his arms. Holding each other, they rock their hips gently, until neither can last any longer, and Jim comes all over Spock's stomach while Spock bursts inside him.

 

They are cuddling under the blankets when Spock notices the old tome in the pile of cushions.

"I used to read it secretly," he reminisces.

"Is there a censure on Pre-Reform works?"

"No, it is merely unadvisable for adolescents due to emotionalism. It may undermine their training in emotional control."

"Yeah, the parts you translated, of _t'hy'la_ , of their love and devotion, so moving..."

"May I show you a memory?"

Jim nods. Carefully, Spock's presence expands in his mind—they don't need to meld anymore for that -

_Utter exhaustion. Huddled on the bed, he thumbs through the book of ancient poetry. Somehow, the dense texture of its pages is soothing after a trying day at school. In Earth years, he's fifteen. Mastering the art of mind meld is a painstaking process, even with his strong telepathic abilities. That's why the best partner for exercises is your intended: the pre-existing link helps, making the contact less stressful._

_His intended, however, is visiting her relatives in a far away province. He has to deal with unfamiliar minds—and excels of course, Father would expect no less. Mother says she is proud of him. But it's draining, so draining. Senet is more fortunate: his intended stayed behind for him. T'Pring chose not to. Hers is a valid reason, yet everyone arrived to the logical conclusion. Peers don't say hurtful things anymore, no. Instead, their stares burn Spock's back._

_The dinner Mother brought for him is long cold. He rises from the bed and picks up the tray._

_A night breeze is nice on the roof. The meteor shower is bright as predicted. Chewing kreyla, he idly calculates the trajectories. Terrans have a strange tradition, wishing on celestial bodies. It's childish of him and pointless, but he wishes, wishes he had a friend closer than a brother, a beloved mate, t'hy'la._

"And yet it worked," Jim whispers as the vision dissipates. "I'm here with you."

"Oh yes, the wish was granted," Spock kisses him. "It still astonishes me to no end."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La’ertau sochya t’okelek - (if visiting someone's home) Lit. We disturb the peace of your honorable home.
> 
> Rom’lashan na’dular - Lit. a welcome to you (Upon friends’ or family members’ arrival) 
> 
> Wa’na’shau - Lit. We greet you eagerly. RARELY used in contemporary Vulcan society between Vulcans due to the fact that it expresses emotion that the greeter is very pleased about the meeting.
> 
> Translations into Vulcan were made with the help of information from Vulcan Language Dictionary, Vulcan Language Institute, Kirshara, and korsaya.org. A huge respect and gratitude to the founders and developers of these wonderful resources!


	5. Wuhkuh eh teretuhr, teral vi'eku

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life's been hectic for quite a while already, so an update turned out belated. Thank you everyone who's still reading.

"I can do that myself," Jim murmurs contentedly.

"Would you rather?" Spock teases, applying sunscreen on Jim's face.

"No, go on," Jim smirks and kisses the side of Spock's palm.

They are almost ready. Jim can't take his eyes off his husband—Spock is resplendent in his robes.

"There are family tokens we should wear," Spock turns to a wall drawer and takes out a long heavy necklace with large amber-like stones—a finest work of old.

"Would it be appropriate?" Jim asks as Spock puts the necklace on him. "This belongs to you."

"All that is mine is yours," Spock adorns Jim's fingers with two massive rings, then puts on a similar necklace and rings himself.

"We're a glamorous couple, you and I," Jim gazes at Spock lovingly.

"Indeed we are," Spock squeezes Jim's hand. "Shall we?"

"Yeah," Jim nods. "Let's shake up this town."

 

Everyone has gathered in the atrium for breakfast: Mom and Dad in their best clothes, Sarek dressed like a lord he is, Amanda in an elegant traditional gown, and Bones, dapper in his white dress uniform and a gray silk cravat.

"Here are our lovebirds," Bones grins from ear to ear.

"Oh my god, just look at them!" Mom jumps to her feet, wielding her top-notch holocamera.

"Spock, Jim, link your arms, yeah, just like that!" Amanda joins in, decorum of an ambassador's wife instantly forgotten.

Mom snaps pictures from one angle, then from another while Amanda instructs, "Lean closer to each other, now with an _ozh'esta_ , that's right..."

It's better to humor them, really. Spock lets out a tiny sigh, as resigned as Jim.

"Ladies, ladies, let them sit and eat, for god's sake," Dad chuckles.

"The musicians shall arrive soon," Sarek adds pointedly.

"Sorry, we got carried away," Mom giggles and takes a holo of Sarek, Dad, and Bones at the table instead.

"Tuck in, boys, you'll need a lot of energy today," Amanda says.

"The musicians, are they also from the Clan?" Jim asks Spock as they settle down.

"Yes, they are our kinsmen," Spock replies, helping Jim to arrange the robe neatly. "Talok taught my father and later me to play _ka'athyra_. Senet and T'Vei are his children."

"They have always been accepting of our diverse family," Amanda muses quietly.

 

After breakfast Bones gives each Human a shot of triox, even to Amanda, because the distance to be covered on foot is considerable. He barely finishes when a chime announces that someone has entered the garden.

"It is time," Sarek gets up.

"There is a certain order in which we should go," Amanda says. "Doctor, please stand behind Jim and Spock, then mothers, and fathers follow in the rear."

Jim's parents exchange looks, intrigued by yet another alien custom. They check their universal translators, Mom puts the camera into her purse and takes her place beside Amanda. As the whole marriage party leaves the house, _this is it_ , crosses Jim's mind, _we're gonna do it_. Spock's face is calm and serene, but the bond lets Jim know that Spock keeps his own excitement under control.

Three Vulcans meet them in the garden: an elderly man with a _ka'athyra_ , a woman with a flute and a man with a _kun-ut vluhn_ —marriage drum. The musicians' robes are of the Clan's deep brown hue. Their expressions are impassive, yet their eyes are warm.

" _Osavensu. Ko-niht, sa-niht_," Spock inclines his head, and Jim does the same.

" _Sarlah etek dvin-tor_," the elder says in a raspy voice.

He and his children radiate support, palpable despite succinct formal words. Leading the marriage party into the street, the musicians begin to play. Outside the gate there are two more Vulcans like those from T'Pau's retinue six years ago—tall muscular men in stylized armor and helmets. They march in front of the procession with sets of bells. Last time, harsh and aggressive, the music was to incense the mating fever. Today, it's gentle and harmonious, like the bond that formed untainted by the madness of _pon farr_.

If for the past week Jim worried just about everything, now, walking side by side with Spock, he is confident. Their marriage will work. Any difficulties can be solved, and it will make them even closer. Spock glances at him and nods. Jim wants to kiss him, propriety be damned.

There seems to be no disapproval from the neighbors meeting them on the way. It's a good start. The morning sun is pleasantly warm; the air is getting more humid as they approach the very center of the city. Tiny drones are hovering above: the media asked permission, and Sarek said publicity was important for the Clan. Thankfully, Vulcans don't overstep boundaries—on Earth it would've been mayhem.

The narrow street opens into the main square adjacent to the Lake, and Jim's breath is taken away. In the heart of Shi'Kahr, among its proud and reticent people, some two hundred familiar faces are beaming. A low hubbub bursts into roaring cheers as the Enterprise crew welcome the marriage party. Here's Sulu bouncing on the balls of his feet and waving; Scotty in a kilt, bagpipes under his arm; M'Ress flourishing a colorful feather fan, a Caitian symbol of happiness; Janice Rand and Charlene Masters holding decorative baskets... The corners of Spock's mouth curve, his joy spreading through the bond.

"Looks like pretty much everyone off shift came," Jim mumbles.

"It was a great idea, Jimbo," Bones winks.

"But..." Jim glances at Mom and Dad—they are as surprised and moved, Amanda is excited while Sarek is trying to cover up his bewilderment. So it must have been...

"I invited them," Spock confirms.

"Well, slap my head and call me silly," Bones chortles.

"That would be undignified, Doctor," Spock replies smugly.

 _God, I love you_ , Jim sends through the bond.

 _As I you_ , Spock brushes his fingers against Jim's hand.

The crew make way for them, and they walk showered with rice and rose petals. As Vulcan passers-by watch curiously grain and leaves being squandered, Scotty adds to the melody his beautiful tune, Riley plays the violin, and the crew follow the marriage party as per the custom: friends see off the newlyweds to the shrine. Jim didn't think anyone on this planet would. Being allowed to share this with the Enterprise family is amazing.

Whoa, some Vulcans join in too, enriching the wedding theme with more lyres, flutes, and drums. It dawns on Jim that many of Shi'Kahr dwellers gathered especially to show support. Among those there is a couple he recognizes at once. T'Pring raises her hand in a salute while Stonn, who is carrying in his arms a girl about five, nods his greeting. Spock is pleased to see them, no hard feelings left. All around is dreamlike: the majestic Old Town, music pulsing in Jim's veins, everybody's uplift and celebration without judgment. Yet Spock's happiness in Jim's head is real. A bit dizzy, his heart beating fast, Jim is trying to capture each detail and keep it in his memory.

High Council Chambers, a former residence of Shial kings, marks the other side of the main square. The guards and the musicians step aside. Three aircars are waiting to take the marriage party to the Forge. Before getting in, both Jim and Spock turn to look at their friends, and cheers flood the square once more.

 

Inside the aircar Spock reaches for controls and increases the level of oxygen. Jim sighs blissfully, sipping an electrolyte drink Bones made sure they had in supplies. The inner layer of Jim's robe is damp with sweat, and the necklace is heavy on his chest. At first it was okay, but little by little the precious stones became like dumbbells. Six years earlier, wielding a lirpa in high gravity and thin air had him panting in about two minutes. Jim realizes he closed his eyes when he feels Spock's gentle touch. Spock unclasps the necklace and puts it away.

"Thanks," Jim exhales and breathes in again. "Will it be a significant breach of protocol?"

"It is of no consequence," Spock gazes at him with concern. "Perhaps we should drive all the way to the shrine."

"No, I'll be fine. I hope Amanda, Mom and Dad are okay too."

The desert is stretching endlessly, the air rippling above the dunes. Enormous rock pinnacles cast long shadows—sentinels of old keep vigil over their domain, and ahead sharp ridges of L-langon Mountains hide the horizon. Jim's past visits were cursory, but through Spock's memories he is not a complete stranger here, sharing his husband's fondness for the places Spock explored as a boy. Spock wraps his arm around Jim's waist, and Jim presses closer to him.

_How about a ride across the continent someday?_

_We could endeavor it._

_Yeah, when we finally have time for our honeymoon._

There is a steep valley at the foot of the mountain range. Eons ago molten lava cooled, layer after layer, in surreal shapes. Some hills resemble castles or strongholds, some remind Jim of various bizarre lifeforms the Enterprise encountered. The aircars descend to the bottom of the valley where a narrow path leads further into the mountains. When they get out of the aircar, it's as if they stepped into the oven. Jim pulls his hood over his head because the sun is blazing.

"If this is winter, I'll never come here in summer," Bones grumbles a few feet away. He changed from his white tunic into a yellow field jacket—Mom and Dad got those on the Enterprise too. Additionally, the three of them put on cowboy hats and sunglasses and now look like a gang from an old Western holovid.

"How come I don't get shades?" Jim smirks, shaking his head.

Dad is rummaging in the trunk while Mom is making more pictures. They seem to be quite alright.

"Mr. Kirk, you cannot take a phaser rifle on a pilgrimage," Sarek's authoritative tone is level, but somehow he manages to sound scandalized.

"Why not?" Dad asks, unabashed, checking the rifle.

"This is not our way, sir," Spock says.

"I thought it wasn't a good idea, dear," Mom tries in a cajoling voice.

"This is a potentially hazardous environment, and I'm not going there empty-handed. My family's wellbeing depends on it," Dad replies calmly.

"With Sarek and Spock we're safe," Amanda assures him.

"Is it against the law?" Dad persists.

"It is against our customs and philosophy," Sarek doesn't budge either.

This could go on and on: Dad always has the last word, and even Tellarites can't win an argument with Sarek.

"Dad, please," Jim holds up his hand. "Put it away, will you?"

"I personally agree with George, but since we're observing traditions and all that jazz..." McCoy shrugs.

A ringing silence stretches while everyone is staring at Dad.

"Okay, okay, fine," Dad snaps and shoves the rifle back in the trunk. "Let's hope we won't end up as someone's dinner."

Sarek raises an eyebrow and leads on without uttering a word. There's no need to keep the formal procession anymore, so everyone follows in a group. Enormous boulders are scattered all around the valley—as if primordial giants were turned into stone mid-motion. The desert is not as lifeless as it may seem: Mom yelps when a weird crab-like creature darts across the path. Dad curses under his breath, but he is looking up, not down. Atop some of the boulders huge yellow lizards are basking in the sun. They have sharp teeth and long claws.

"To hell with traditions, I'd rather return for the rifle," Bones croaks.

Dad flings up his hands.

" _Shatarr_ shall not attack us unless provoked. Therefore, please refrain from abrupt movements," Sarek gives them both a stern look.

Dad makes a face and thrusts his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Bones moves to the center of the path, casting surreptitious glances at the lizards. Meanwhile, Mom pulls out a holocamera.

"Mrs. Kirk, it would be better if you didn't," Spock says quietly.

"The flash is switched off," Mom whispers back.

"Mom," Jim mouths.

Mom sighs and leaves the camera hanging around her neck. Neither she nor Amanda seem bothered at all by proximity of the reptiles which may be as wicked as Gorns. Jim, on the other hand, is glad to get away. The further they go into the mountains, the taller the rocks become, standing close to each other like a stone forest. Mom can't help but grab her camera again to capture the opening vista.

"And this is where Vulcan parents allow their children to roam by themselves? Unbelievable," Bones shakes his head.

"We take our children to the Forge as soon as they are able to walk," Sarek replies with dignity. "So by the age of seven they know the Desert's ways."

"I, for my part, was very nervous when Spock went through the _kahs-wan_ ordeal, especially after the occasion with the poor I-Chaya. And since it's okay to confess now," Amanda glances at Spock, "I secretly watched over you via a satellite."

Jim giggles as Spock gapes at Amanda. Bones is _glowing_ with mirth.

"Smart move," Dad nods approvingly.

"I would've done the same," Mom agrees.

The expression on Sarek's face is also priceless: he opens his mouth, then closes it—perhaps he wanted to ask whether Amanda had any more secrets from him, but thought better of it.

As soon as they take another turn, Bones stops grinning, though. They have come to the edge of a precipice. Only a narrow road along the cliff leads to the mountain ridge on the other side. Down below there's raging flame, as if the soil itself is set ablaze. The air is scorching, and it's difficult to breathe, since much of the scarce oxygen is burning up.

"So this is the Holy Fire, huh?" Mom gasps, her eyes wide.

"Get ready to get cleansed, Win," Dad smirks.

The edge of the road is fenced, but if you fall, nothing will save you. In fact, there are great chances of being baked alive during an attempt to get to the other side.

"Mother of God," McCoy mutters, wiping sweat from his forehead. He gives each Human another shot of triox and a breathing mask.

"Thank you, Doctor. I've already crossed this passage several times," Amanda smiles, returning him the mask. "It shouldn't take long."

Sarek heads first into the furnace, and she follows him without a doubt, without a trace of fear. Next go Dad, Mom, and Bones with apprehension and determination on their faces. It's as if they all are a landing party on a dangerous mission, but Jim always feels secure with Spock next to him. Stepping onto the path, Jim tries not to look down. Thankfully, many layers of his robe protect him well from the heat. It would be better if his parents and Bones wore robes too, not the field jackets. Life support belts would come in handy, no matter if that would be considered as cheating. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Jim trudges on. Breathe in, breathe out, breath in, breathe out. Sweat is trickling down his temples, droplets of sweat run down his chest and spine. Half of the way is already covered when suddenly Amanda stumbles, and Dad, who is walking behind her, catches her by the elbow and brings his breathing mask to her face. Sarek turns, takes her into his arms and strides fast to the other side. Spock's worry is mingling with Jim's own as everyone hurry after Sarek.

In the shadow of the cliff Sarek settles Amanda on a boulder, and Bones starts scanning her with his medical tricorder.

"How are you, Amanda?" Mom asks, offering her a flask of water.

"I'm alright, just got a little dizzy," Amanda replies briskly, takes the flask and drains it in a few gulps.

"You need to rest and breathe more oxygen-rich air," Bones frowns.

"It is cooler inside the temple, I will carry you," Sarek says to Amanda.

"Perhaps we should cancel our pilgrimage," Spock adds, glancing at Jim, and Jim nods.

"Out of the question!" Amanda glares at Sarek and Spock.

"Let's just have a break, shall we?" Jim raises his hands in a calming gesture.

"Yeah, we all need it," Dad takes off his hat and cards his fingers through his damp hair.

"Come, there's a nice place nearby," Mom points at a hollow in the rocks.

"Please stay within sight," Sarek calls after them.

"Okey-dokey," Dad drawls.

A hot morning seems balmy in comparison with the fiery pit, and in the shadows the rocks still retain chillness of the night. Bones monitored Amanda's vitals for a while, and only when he made sure her health was out of danger, he allowed himself some respite. Sarek and Spock didn't leave her side at all.

"Everything's fine now," she smiles at them. "Perhaps it's the matter of not getting any younger. I should have followed Doctor McCoy's advice."

"In this blazing heat all Humans should go on by aircar. Vulcans can decide for themselves," Bones grimaces.

"The rest of the route to the temple is inaccessible by aircar," Spock replies grimly. "We should either fly to the Marriage Grounds without visiting the temple or proceed as we were."

"Of course we're going to the temple, it's practically around the block from here," Amanda says in a tone that bears no contradiction.

"We can arrange an aircar from the temple and to the Marriage Grounds," Sarek puts his hand on her arm.

"Yeah, let's do that," Jim gets to his feet. "Climbing mountains wouldn't be wise—Amanda nearly had a heat stroke, and my parents are out of practice. By the way, where are they?"

Everyone looks at the hollow where George and Winona chose to hide from the sun, but they are not there.

"Why, we've been talking just a few min—"

Bones' rambling is drowned in a piercing shriek, "HEEELP!"

It's coming from the hollow.

"My god, it's Mom," Jim dashes there, running as fast as he can.

The damn robes are terribly cumbersome, and he has to grab the lower part to avoid tripping. Bones overtakes him, as do Spock and Sarek, having no trouble with the robes. The hollow turns out to be a cave, but they don't have to run too far. There's a flashlight lying on the ground, sounds of struggle, panting, and weird rustle.

"Hurry!" Mom yells.

She is trying to untangle Dad from thick tendrils of some monstrous plant, they are countless, coiling around his neck, arms and legs, wound tightly around his middle.

"Stay away, Win," Dad wheezes, kicking and wriggling.

The air is filled with a gentle lulling aroma.

" _S'gagerat_ ," Spock hisses.

"Quick, we need to pull him outside the cave!" Sarek grabs Dad by the shoulders and drags him toward the exit. Jim and Spock help from either side while Bones and Mom are tearing off thinner tendrils. The plant resists, gripping harder, its tendrils strained like strings.

"He can barely breathe, slow down, we need to remove these things!" Bones crushes vine so fiercely juice trickles between his fingers.

"No, if we stop, it will strangle him altogether," Spock replies through gritted teeth.

"It's giving way," Jim pants, "let's try to uproot it. On the count of three—one, two, three!"

With a combined effort, they make a sharp tug. Something bursts, and they fall out of the cave, bringing Dad and the plant itself into the daylight. The plant's core—a huge maw with thorns inside—lets out a deafening screech and draws the tentacles in. Everyone clutches Dad to save him from being devoured. Amanda comes running with a knife and Bones' medikit and starts cutting off the tentacles. Bones takes a laser scalpel which proves more effective than the knife. But the plant doesn't loosen its grip—Dad is already unconscious. Jim picks up nearest stones and throws them at the plant to distract it. Mom hurtles another laser scalpel right into the maw.

A muffled explosion follows.

Although the plant stays intact, it finally lets go of Dad and using the remaining tendrils darts back into the cave in a blink of an eye. Sarek and Spock lower Dad carefully on the ground. He doesn't seem to show any signs of life. Jim drops the stones and bolts to him. Mom is checking Dad's pulse.

"It's beating," she says in a trembling voice.

"Bones, do something!" Jim pleads.

Bones is already scanning Dad, then he rummages in the medikit and gives Dad a hypo.

"He's okay, aside bumps and bruises," the doctor sighs with relief. "Just asleep. I gave him a broad spectrum antidote. See the punctures on his arms? This plant has injected some strong soporific under his skin."

"Indeed, this is its way of hunting," Spock nods, relieved as well.

"He should come around soon, but better call for an aircar anyway," Bones continues.

"Will do," Amanda takes out a communicator.

Sarek and Spock bring Dad into a shadowed place, and it takes Bones about ten minutes to heal all his abrasions and scratches. Little by little Dad regains consciousness.

"Oh, honey," Mom clasps his hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Good as new," Dad replies hoarsely. "It was kinda fun."

"Yeah, quite an adventure," Mom grins.

"Adventure," McCoy facepalms. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this is my life. Be our best man, they said, it's honorable, they said."

"You said you were honored," Jim nudges him.

"Would you rather return to the ship, Doctor?" Spock raises an eyebrow.

"And leave y'all unattended?" McCoy snorts.

Sarek watches the exchange with a stony face.

"Why did you even go inside?" Amanda asks Mom and Dad, her eyes twinkling. " _S'gagerat_ is a night plant, it hides during the day."

"My fault," Mom ducks her head. "I wanted to explore a bit because there was a nice sweet aroma, and then in a split second those tentacles grabbed me. George freed me, but got entangled himself."

"Do the monks know such a creature lives on the way to their temple?" Dad rubs his sore wrists.

"We will notify them of this particular specimen," Sarek says curtly. "George, if your condition allows, shall we continue our journey? The temple will be more convenient for rest."

Dad agrees, and Bones has no objections either, so they set out again. Now Spock leads the way, Jim beside him. Dad, Mom, and Amanda are in the middle, Bones keeping an eye on them lest anyone suddenly feels unwell, and Sarek is the last, to be able to help at once. The road becomes narrower and narrower, winding between towering rocks. Soon they are walking in the maze of crevices—there are so many that one wrong turn might easily lead to getting lost and wandering in the mountains until the bitter end.

"How did you make the scalpel explode?" Amanda asks Mom in a hushed tone, but echo amplifies her voice.

"It took a minor tinkering," Mom replies, then adds quickly, "rest assured, Len, the standard modification is perfectly safe."

McCoy only huffs a long-suffering sigh.

 _It's amazing_ , Jim muses, touching the smooth limestone polished by harsh winds and sand. _We've been on so many planets, yet I have never seen anything like it._

 _Exploring new worlds we often forget about the wonders of our own_ , Spock inclines his head.

They gaze at each other, and Spock slides his fingers along Jim's hand in a surreptitious caress.

"The temple is an ancient shelter of our clan," he says aloud.

"No wonder this place is so hidden," Mom murmurs.

"But what if someone's intentions are not quite peaceful?" Dad chimes in.

"The priests are very gifted telepaths," Sarek replies. "So they will be aware of any harmful intentions."

"Being masters of _Suus Mahna_ and knowing this place like no other..." Amanda trails off.

"Okay, I get the drift," Dad laughs.

Interplay of light and shadow shrouds the passages in a gold-reddish hue. _This is the Vulcan heart, this is the Vulcan soul_ , T’Pau’s words rise in Jim's memory. He began this journey for Spock's sake, just to see Spock smile. And if they skipped it, as had been planned originally, Jim would have missed a chance to understand this part of Spock's soul. By taking him and his kin into the Family sanctum, Spock honors him. Through this initiation rite they expand their bond in so many ways. Gratitude and love swell in Jim's chest, and Spock looks up at him, surprised.

“Thank you,” Jim whispers. There's no need to explain—Spock feels what moved him. A fleeting smile touches Spock's lips, making Jim's heart race, as Spock squeezes Jim's hand.

The passage grows wider into an opening among the mountains. They walk a little more and find themselves in front of an enormous temple hewn in the rock. Massive columns and arches, walls decorated with intricate patterns—unbelievable that all this was created by hand, with simple tools, thousands of years ago. Jim's parents gasp, clicks of Mom’s holocamera breaking the silence.

“Win, please remember, cameras are not allowed inside,” Amanda says quietly.

Mom nods and puts the camera away. The marriage party enters the temple. It is a large cave lit by many candles. Long-haired priests and priestesses in white robes sit on the floor, their chants mixed with the sound of water flowing among the stones: there is a waterfall at the far end of the cave—the main place of worship. As they proceed to the waterfall, the priests and priestesses seem to take no heed of the newcomers, but the now familiar beat of the marriage drums adds to the low-pitched chants. It is blissfully cool in the temple. Change in the temperature and the drumbeat make Jim shiver. A carved basin encases the foot of the waterfall, and they settle down by its brink, enjoying tiny droplets of water showering them. According to the custom, it is necessary to perform ritual ablutions: to wash your hands and face, and it's okay to drink from the basin too—the water is streaming and always fresh. They are only happy to do so. All worries and fatigue go away; chanting and the drums bring peace.

 _You can focus on your dearest wish or sending positive energy_ , Spock guides Jim. _Even without telepathy the Universe will hear you._

Jim's dearest wish has already come true, and he sets on sharing his happiness, just as Spock does.

After a while the rhythm of the drums becomes faster, louder, waking them from their hypnotic state. The priests and priestesses rise and move gracefully in a ceremonial dance, their long hair and robes swaying like currents of a whirlpool. There is something sensual and yet pure in the curves of their flexible lean bodies, something basic and primal, and yet sublime. This would leave Orion dancers jealous.

 _It's curious that people of both sexes serve in the temple together_ , Jim notes.

 _Since for Vulcans mental attraction is as important as physical, there is little point in gender-based segregation_ , Spock explains. _Those devoted to the spiritual way shall not be distracted._

_Is it the same for Kolinahru adepts?_

_Yes. Thoughts of you kept distracting me, no matter how strictly I exercised control._

_I should thank all Vulcan gods you didn't excel as a monk._

Jim grins at his husband. Spock laces their fingers.

At the end of the mesmerizing dance one of the priests gives Bones an amphora-shaped vessel of red clay. It looks crude and rather old. With that, the priests and priestesses return to their prayers, paying no more attention to the marriage party. Less than an hour passed since they came into the temple, but it was enough to refresh them. Further on, this cave connected to another, and then another—it's a series of caves which used to be home for the whole clan. Walls are covered with paintings of fierce _sehlats_ and _le-matyas_ and animals whose names Jim doesn't know. In the scarce light from torches the paintings appear to move.

“Well, this booze gotta be good, after all the pains we took to get it,” Bones mutters under his breath.

“This is not the purpose of port wine, Doctor,” Sarek objects.

Bones grumbles something unintelligible in reply. Jim's parents are quiet throughout the way out of the caves, still under impression of the temple. Gradually the air becomes warmer, and then the tunnel opens into daylight. They are at the foot of three peaks—the Marriage Grounds. Countless stairs lead high up, a few hours of climbing for a Vulcan and probably a day for a Human. Thankfully, aircars are already waiting for them. Bones brightens up, adjusting the amphora in his arms.

As they ascend, Jim gazes from the window at the vista below. The distance they covered seems not that big from here. Shi'Kahr, perfect in its geometry, is looming in the afternoon haze, and in front of them the Sacred Circle is growing closer. Jim steals a kiss on the corner of his husband's lips while they are still alone. _Soon_.

The aircars park at the very same spot Spock, Bones, and Jim beamed down to six years ago. Everyone lines up as a formal procession again, like when they left the house. Excitement is buzzing in the hot thin air, although the Humans look as composed as the Vulcans. Jim has a sense akin to deja vu as they cross the bridge and enter the arena of shimmering sand. Nothing changed here. The same jiggle of wind chimes, the same hiss of coals in the fire pit, the same red sky. Only the gong which they broke during the fight is replaced, whole again. Parents throw dry herbs into the fire pit; puffs of acerbic smoke spread floating. The ancients believed it repelled evil spirits. Spock's eyes are filled with emotion that streams into the bond. _At last, my Jim._

Together, the newlyweds step onto the dais and strike the gong—first Spock and then Jim. Clatter of marriage bells announces the arrival of the Clan Mother. Her retinue is more numerous, and now she is dressed in full traditional multilayered attire, but her features are as stern as before, her coal black eyes piercing. When the guards lower her chair on the opposite dais, she raises her lean withered hand in a _ta’al_. Jim's fingers tremble slightly as he and Spock return the gesture. Spock gives him a mental cue that they should approach her. Jim swallows. _Now this is really it._ He tries hard not to trip over his robes and make a fool of himself. Spock at his side is completely calm. Through the bond he is imparting his serenity to Jim. They kneel at T’Pau’s feet, and Jim braces himself for intrusion, because melding with anyone else than Spock is exactly what it is.

 _It will be brief, Jim_ , Spock comforts him.

Jim wills himself to relax, and Spock's warm presence helps. T’Pau’s gauze cape rustles, her fingers touch Jim's face lightly –

_She joins Jim's consciousness at the same time with Spock's. Her mental power is clear, ordered, cold. It reaches the bond instantaneously and observes. The bond is solid, nurtured by love that is beyond time or distance. Three roots from both sides—of friendship, of family, and of marriage—go deep. Spock is happy. He is not afraid to feel it, not ashamed to be seen like this. He is proud. Jim has so much tenderness for him. T’Pau’s thoughts emanate wonder and reverence. Then she is gone._

Jim blinks and glances at Spock. Spock's face is alight with joy as he looks back at Jim.

" _Nam-tor nash Komihn t'hy'la t’du, Spohkh. Nam-tor Tel t’dular yeht_,” T’Pau says. Her usually harsh and commanding voice is soft.

Still gazing into each other's eyes, Spock and Jim rise.

" _Wuhkuh eh teretuhr_,” Spock begins the vow.

" _Teral vi'eku_,” Jim continues, and the words he practiced with such difficulty flow smoothly.

" _K’du_, James Tiberius Kirk,” Spock breathes.

" _K’du_, S'chn T'gai Spock,” Jim echoes, pumping his fist in his mind: he didn't stumble uttering his husband’s phonetically elaborate full name. Bubbles of Spock's amusement tickle the bond.

" _U'thrah_,” they speak together. " _U'sa-kai, u'telsu_.”

T’Pau holds out a goblet adorned with traditional patterns and precious stones. Bones strolls up, uncorking the amphora. Once he poured the ceremonial drink, T’Pau hands the goblet to Spock. Spock receives it and brings it to Jim's lips.

The wine is fragrant, a tad sweet and spicy, the best Jim has had in many years. As tradition requires, he sips a half, takes the goblet from Spock and lets him drink. Half of the heart, half of the soul. The one to share sad days, happy days, all days that life is comprised of. _May they be as many as stars in the sky._

Spock extends his two fingers to Jim, and Jim meets him halfway.

" _Ki’tor_,” T’Pau proclaims solemnly.

A muffled sob comes from the parents’ side. Mom and Amanda are crying, Dad’s cheek is wet too. Bones’ eyes sparkle with tears. Unlike them, Sarek expresses his joy in a logical manner: with a small smile.

 

In the middle of the desert, with no civilization miles and miles around, there is a villa built on the slope of a hill. It is completely self-sufficient with its top-notch design, a luxurious nook for a quiet downtime together. Jim lets out a low whistle, looking around their new property.

“Would you consider it as our second residence?” Spock murmurs into Jim's ear.

“This is a nice alternative to the damp San Fran,” Jim draws him into an embrace.

A warm drop of water hits Jim's forehead, another—the tip of Spock's nose, and in a few seconds it's pouring. Cracked soil is drinking avidly, and the air fills with the smell of rain. Their robes get heavy, yet they make no move to hide in the house. Clouds were gathering ever since they left the Marriage Grounds and headed here, but this?

“What the hell?” Jim laughs, carding his fingers through Spock's wet bangs.

“ _Tevun-yonuk_ , the rainy season has begun. Gods bless us,” Spock says, and they kiss.

Jim's mirth is so catchy both through the touch and through the bond that Spock gives in. The quiet rumble of his laughter is beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Osavensu - honorable teacher  
> Ko-niht – cousin (female)  
> Sa-niht – cousin (male)  
> Sarlah etek dvin-tor - We come to serve  
> Nam-tor nash Komihn t'hy'la t’du, Spohkh. Nam-tor Tel t’dular yeht - This Human is thy t'hy'la, Spock. Your Bond is true.  
> Wuhkuh eh teretuhr - One and together  
> Teral vi'eku - Joined into a whole  
> K’du - With thee  
> U'thrah, u'sa-kai, u'telsu - As a friend, as a brother, as a spouse  
> Ki’tor - It is done
> 
> Translations into Vulcan were made with the help of information from Vulcan Language Dictionary and Vulcan Language Institute. A huge respect and gratitude to the founders and developers of these wonderful resources!


	6. Kiss to make our vodka sweet

They are floating in zero gravity. This is a strange place, somewhat similar to V’ger, and Jim is holding Spock from behind, protecting him from whatever it is around them. But there's no immediate danger, it's warm, and there's air to breathe. Only silence of space and their heartbeats. They wear no spacesuits or even clothes for that matter—they are naked. Spock’s back is pressed against Jim's chest and stomach, and Jim's dick pokes between Spock's buttocks. Spock gasps, their bond seething with desire. Jim rubs his dick along the rim of Spock's hole while Spock rolls his hips to intensify the friction—

Jim wakes up, rock hard, spooning Spock. Judging by the bond and by Spock's quickened breath and pulse, he is awake too. Jim grazes Spock's perineum, eliciting another moan, slips his hand forward to cover Spock's dick, and discovers that Spock is already fondling himself, his fist going up and down, slick with natural lube.

“Why, Mister Spock, I like your being so naughty,” Jim croons and kisses Spock's neck.

“Good morning, Jim,” Spock purrs in a husky voice.

“Morning?” Jim repeats.

Completely drenched, they threw off their clothes on the veranda chairs and finally went into the house. After shower they had a decadent dinner in bed and were about to make love. Jim was just a little drowsy, so he closed his eyes for a minute…

“Oh no, no, no,” Jim sits up, panicking. “I slept through our wedding night!”

“You did no such thing,” Spock sends him a calming wave. “The night we bonded we had most satisfying consummation.”

“But the ceremony,” Jim mumbles.

“Was tiresome,” Spock says simply. “However, now that you’ve had the necessary rest...”

“Yeah,” Jim drawls, lying down again and putting his arms around Spock. “I have my husband all hot and bothered.”

Spock hums contentedly. Jim resumes humping his ass sweet and slow, Spock's moans and gasps spurring him on. Spock bends one leg to give Jim more access, jerking off hard at the same time. While solo masturbation doesn't work for Vulcans due to their need for the partner’s energy, Jim found out that Spock loves being stroked as a part of foreplay. However, Spock didn't initiate it himself until now. It seems like his acceptance of who he is and their union liberated him. Smiling and kissing Spock's shoulder, Jim slips his hand down Spock's belly and wraps his fingers around the base of Spock's dick. They both are pumping Spock's length in sync, a perfect team that they are in everything. Jim enjoys the feeling of Spock's girth in his hand, how it slides against his skin. He caresses his husband lovingly, stimulating Spock's perineum some more. Spock groans, lets go of his dick and clasps Jim's hand. Their slick fingers entwined, Spock rubs their palms against each other, massaging the fleshy mounds, copious amounts of lube squelching obscenely. Jim leans forward and catches Spock's lips in a Human kiss. As their tongues rub together leisurely, Spock's need to be penetrated grows. He presses his ass back, and the tip of Jim's dick enters his hole.

“Yes,” Spock groans into the kiss.

Jim frees his slick hand and replaces his glans with his thumb, probing until he reaches Spock's prostate. Spock lets out a throaty moan; Jim circles his thumb, pushing gently at the walls. Spock's moans blend into a low whine—Jim adores Spock getting so undone, he corkscrews his thumb and teases Spock's rim with the fingertips. Biting his lip, Spock starts rolling his hips again, ready for Jim's dick.

“Yeah, that's right,” Jim whispers.

He withdraws his thumb and coats himself thoroughly with lube. They both groan as Jim presses in, relishing Spock's tight heat. Through the bond, he picks up Spock's craving for more, deeper, so Jim obliges. Spock has been a passionate lover before, but now that they're bonded and he let go of restraints, his unraveling sexuality blows Jim's mind away. Just as slowly as Jim entered, he drags his dick out almost to the tip, then thrusts again, hitting Spock’s sensitive spots. Spock's growl sends goosebumps all over Jim's body. Their lust and love coalesce; the bond doesn't overload their senses anymore, but enriches them. Every reaction from Spock is a treat—Jim ploughs on, now faster and faster, now slowing down, and Spock gets off on Jim’s emotions as much as on having Jim's dick up his ass. This instant exchange is a whole dimension they missed out on when they relied only on the physical feedback. Jim is an absolute fan of married sex. Spock's heart is hammering under Jim's palm; pausing, Jim reaches for a kiss while Spock puts his hand over Jim's. Spock's consciousness slides against his, and it's bliss. Jim tries to do the same for him—they intertwine, for a moment becoming one being. It's like a sparkle, like a charge that passes through them and raises them to the peak.

As their minds separate, surprisingly, their bodies are still close to the edge. Spock moves their hands down, Jim closes his fist around Spock's length, and together they start to jerk Spock off again. With a few thrusts Jim brings them to completion—Spock comes hard with a groan, clenching around Jim, while Jim spills inside him. Jim keeps milking Spock until the last drop, until their shared pleasure is too much for both.

 

Bronze ornaments on the opposite wall glow in rays of the setting sun. Jim stretches lazily, smiling as Spock traces calligraphic glyphs on his skin. Every cell of his body sings, and he can tell that it's the same for Spock.

“I wanted to ask you after round one, but then it turned into round two and so on,” Jim strokes Spock’s cheek. “What is this telepathic thingy? Some kind of mental sex?”

“Two bonded minds can stimulate each other’s pleasure centers directly,” Spock says, caressing Jim’s fingers. “I read of such practices and decided to try, since our bond has already settled.”

“We should definitely explore it more, because it was…” Jim murmurs, blushing.

“I didn’t expect you would reciprocate with such proficiency,” Spock gives him a playful peck on the lips. “As the phrase goes, you’re a natural.”

“Let’s continue then,” Jim rolls them over and pins Spock to the bed.

“Gladly,” Spock palms Jim’s hip. “But we will miss the reception on the ship.”

“You’re right,” Jim sighs. “Can’t let down our crew.”

 

In the text message from Uhura it was said “civvies only”, so they beam up dressed accordingly: Spock in an elegant Vulcan-style suit and Jim in a navy blue tux.

“Welcome aboard,” Scotty grins at them from the control station.

“Thank you, Scotty,” Jim grins back.

“Hope you’ll like your double quarters,” Scotty says as they step down from the transporter pad.

“You are most efficient as always, Mister Scott,” Spock makes a small nod.

Scotty puts his arms akimbo, pleased with himself.

“You’ll join us at the party, right?” Jim asks him, heading to the doors with Spock.

“Of course! In a few sec. Everyone is already there.”

In the corridors, passing crew members greet them with warm smiles and congratulations. It's so good to be home. Anticipation, like champagne bubbles, spreads in Jim's chest. Spock is more reserved, of course, but he is curious too. The Rec Dec is now a glamorous lounge with a bar and a buffet. Guests in all kinds of evening attire are chatting, relaxed and listening to Uhura sing. She's on the stage, leaning on the grand piano, her cocktail dress shimmering in the spotlight. M’Benga plays an old love song.

The music subsides when Jim and Spock enter.

“Attention please, our newlyweds have arrived!” Uhura announces, beaming, and the spotlight shifts from her to the slightly abashed couple.

Everyone gets to their feet, cheering. It’s like yesterday’s walk through Shi’Kahr all over again—such a powerful wave of joy—Jim’s eyes suddenly start to prickle with tears, and he feels through the bond how moved Spock is. Jim clears his throat and switches his wrist communicator to a shipwide mode.

“Dear all, Mister Spock and I would like to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your support. You made us very happy by participating in the ceremony yesterday, and we deeply appreciate that you organized this wonderful evening today. Please join the celebration whenever you can. For those on duty there going to be an afterparty tomorrow, before we set course back to Earth. Kirk out.”

More cheering follows, and Sulu, raising his glass, yells, “Well then, _gorko!_ ”

“I second that!” Uhura claps her hands.

“Hear, hear!” Chapel laughs. Perhaps she got over her long lasting crush on Spock—she seems to share everyone’s excitement.

The crew chants, “ _Go-o-rko! Go-o-rko! Go-o-rko!_ ”

Jim and Spock exchange perplexed looks.

“Okay, zat waz my doing,” Chekov steps forward with an impish grin. “Ze word means ‘bitter’ in Russian. It iz a tradition. Ze vodka we drink to your health iz bitter, so to sweeten it you must kiss. Kiss!”

Spock raises an eyebrow at utter illogic of it. Jim licks his lips nervously, at a loss how to explain them that Vulcans don’t— Spock wraps his arms around Jim’s waist and gives him a chaste, but proper kiss on the lips. The Rec Dec is drowned in roaring and applause. Amanda and Mom are teary-eyed again, Dad high fives Chekov while Sarek is the epitome of equanimity among this mayhem.

M’Benga starts to play a beloved jazz classic, and Uhura takes her place on the stage.

“Please, the couple’s first dance,” Bones gestures courteously toward the dance floor.

It's been a while since Jim danced, and even more so for Spock. They start slowly, carefully, Spock following Jim's lead. But Uhura’s singing is magical, and the rhythm comes to them naturally with the music.

 _We should have rehearsed in the morning_ , Jim smirks, gazing in his husband’s eyes.

 _We were preoccupied_ , the corners of Spock's lips curve up.

_As usual, we deal with the unexpected._

_Together, we’re quite good at it._

 

 

 

**~My Husband, Attend~**

 

 

BONUS:

“There was another solution besides a scalpel bomb,” M’Benga says, sipping his Risan wine.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” George perks up.

“Vulcan urine kills plants,” Sulu declares with gusto.

“How do you even know such things,” McCoy wrinkles his nose.

“What, really?” Winona turns to Sarek.

“I have no comment on that,” Sarek replies.

Amanda, her eyes shining with mischief, just nods silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist on google drive](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B0v9kDesw0cpWFJtNk5pMU5wYnc), [gifset on tumblr](http://mightymads.tumblr.com/post/153985473444/1-tony-bennett-and-amy-winehouse-bodysoul-2)
> 
> More in this universe:
> 
> [In Careful Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13056903/chapters/29864460) – how Jim was thrown into Klingon prison and Spock got him out, set during The Undiscovered Country


End file.
